Guardian Apprentice
by Cyblade Silver
Summary: Altair meets someone with a unique connection to the Pieces of Eden, and brings a new asset into the ranks of the Assassins.
1. The life of an Innocent

_**Disclaimer: **__Nothing in this story, save for the concept of the Treasure Guardians/Children of Eden and the mythology and information surrounding them belong to me. This has some ties to my future story "Chain of Advent", as well as the "Hearts" 'verse in general, but it can still be read as a stand-alone._

**Guardian Apprentice**

"Alnesr, follow closely, and act when I give the order," he ordered, turning to catch the bright, pale yellow eyes of his apprentice.

"Yes, Master Altaïr."

Nodding subtly to the young Apprentice Assassin, Altaïr moved, swift and silent, through the deserted halls of the temple. Almost _too_ deserted, really; there were bound to be Templars guarding the treasure that Master Mualim had sent the four of them out to claim. If there even _was_ treasure at all; all that the Master had said was that the Templars had found something in this place.

Sounds up ahead alerted him to the presence of another; likely a Templar guard. Signaling for Alnesr to wait, he moved forward.

"Wait! There must be another way, this one need not die," Malik called; Altaïr ignored him.

Even if the old man was _not_ a Templar, he could not be allowed to alert the Templars to their presence. This mission demanded secrecy, and he would not see it compromised for Malik's weakness. Plunging his hidden blade into the man's neck, Altaïr killed him with the same swiftness and silence as the eagles that he had often been compared to.

"An excellent kill," Kadar said, clear awe in his voice. "Fortune favors your blade."

"Not fortune; skill," he corrected.

"Yes; indeed, Master Altaïr is most skillful," Alnesr said, moving to stand closer, and keeping alert the way he'd been taught.

He smiled, feeling a sense of pride; almost like his own father must have felt, he thought. "Watch awhile longer and you might learn something more, Kadar."

"Indeed," Malik said, with clear distain. "He'll teach you how to disregard everything the Master has taught us." Malik stepped slightly into Kadar's line of sight, glaring at him as if he had overstepped some invisible boundary. "Teach what you will to your own Apprentice, Altaïr; anyone can see that he's already too much like you. But do _not_ try to corrupt mine."

"Oh?" he asked, as Alnesr moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, showing the solidarity that any good Apprentice should. "And, how would _you_ have handled this?"

"I would not have drawn attention to us," Malik said plainly. "I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What _I_ would have done, is follow the Creed."

Perhaps Malik did not _remember_ the Creed. "Nothing is true; everything is permitted. Understand these words; it matters not how we complete our task, only that it is done."

"But this is not our way!" Malik protested.

"My way is better," he said, decisively ending the conversation.

"I will scout ahead. Try not to dishonor us further," Malik said, with significantly more distain than he had previously shown.

Sneering at his back, Altaïr wiped the expression from his face as Kadar turned to regard him with curiosity. He might not have been fond of Malik's constant questioning, but Kadar was far more tolerable. He was almost like Alnesr, though somewhat less shy; likely another artifact of his own Apprentice's odd appearance.

One who had nearly been killed for such a thing as that was not likely to want to draw attention to himself, after all.

"What is our mission?" Kadar asked, moving to stand closer to him. "My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited."

"Yes, Master; I, too, would like to know what our mission entails," Alnesr said, moving slightly to catch his eye, then ducking his head shyly once he had done so.

"The Master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple Mount," he informed them both.

Alnesr merely looked thoughtful when he had spoken of Master Mualim's suspicions, but Kadar spoke up with no hesitation: "Treasure!"

"I do not know. All that matters is that the Master considers it important. Else he would not have asked me to retrieve it," he informed them both.

Alnesr nodded to indicate his comprehension of the matter, and the three of them moved to meet up with Malik. He hoped that his fellow Assassin had at least managed to find _something_ useful; he'd no desire for Alnesr, Kadar, and himself to shoulder the entire burden during this mission.

He soon spotted Malik up ahead, moving slowly and alertly through the deserted halls of the Temple Mount. He was pleased to note that there were no guards or other people inside; he was not particularly eager to hear more of Malik's lectures on the importance of the Creed. He knew the Creed, likely better even than Malik, because he outranked the older Assassin.

This, he often thought, was the root of Malik's distain for and disparagement of him.

Continuing to follow Malik through the Temple Mount, he could clearly hear Alnesr and Kadar keeping pace just behind them. He was pleased to know that his Apprentice was taking proper initiative. Moving through the Temple Mount, he continued searching for guards and others that Malik might have missed. Or simply left alive because he did not consider them a threat.

Climbing the two ladders that he found in his path, Altaïr then found himself facing a Templar guard standing at the entrance to another part of the Temple Mount. Likely as not, Malik had left this one alive out of some misguided desire not to stain his hands, or other such nonsense. Dealing with the Templar the same way that he had dealt with so many of the man's brethren – and the same way he _would_ deal with any others he encountered in the future – he made his way into the next room.

The next room opened up into a much larger space than any of the previous rooms, and Altaïr found himself looking down upon the main group of Templars at last.

"There, that must be the Ark," Malik said.

"The Ark? Of the Covenant?" Kadar echoed, as if he actually believed in such nonsense; clearly, Malik should have endeavored to teach him better.

"Don't be absurd. There's no such thing; it's just a story," he said.

"Then, what is it?" Kadar asked, looking from him to Malik.

"Quiet!" Malik said quickly. "Someone's coming."

Watching and waiting, as any good Assassin was trained to do, he both saw and heard the man giving orders to this group of Templars. The greatest enemy of the Assassin Brotherhood: the Templar Grand Master, Robert de Sable.

"Robert de Sable!" he spat. "His life is mine! Alnesr-!"

"No," Malik said, gripping his arm; holding him back. "We were asked to retrieve the treasure, and deal with Robert only if necessary."

"He stands between us and it, I'd say it's necessary," he said, pulling his arm free from Malik's grasp.

"Discretion, Altaïr!" Malik snarled.

"You mean cowardice," he snapped back, having had more than his fill of Malik's insistent disrespect; even Alnesr was a better Assassin, _he_ at least knew how to show the proper respect to his superiors. "That man is our greatest enemy, and here we have the chance to be rid of him!"

"You have already broken two tenets of our Creed," Malik growled. "Now, you would break the third: do not compromise the Brotherhood."

"I am your superior, in both title and ability," he reminded the older man. "You should know better than to question me." Dismissing Malik from his mind, he turned to his loyal Apprentice. "Alnesr, follow closely, and observe well. You may have the chance to claim your first Templar head today, if you act swiftly."

"Yes, Master Altaïr," his Apprentice acknowledged.


	2. Return to Masyaf

Moving as swiftly as he ever did, he heard Alnesr just behind him and smiled slightly. He _would_ claim the life of Robert de Sable this day, and Alnesr would claim the first of many lives that he would take as he rose through the ranks of the Assassins under Altaïr's tutelage. They would both return to Masyaf triumphant this day.

Their descent to the ground floor of the Temple went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and for a moment Altaïr thought back on his Apprentice's younger days. Alnesr had not been a quick study, like Altaïr himself had been, but the boy had more than made up for such deficiencies with the determination to please his Master that every good Apprentice had. This situation would be no different: Alnesr would will his way through.

Bringing his mind back to the present, he stood at last on the floor of the Temple and moved to confront the Templars gathered in the largest room, Alnesr a silent presence at his side.

"Hold, Templars!" he snarled, calling their attention to him; let them feel fear as he and Alnesr came among them and killed them all. "You are not the only ones with business here!"

"Ah, well _this_ explains my missing man," Robert de Sable sneered, in his strangely accented voice; French, Altaïr recalled from his lessons. "And what is it _you_ want?"

"Blood," he answered simply, not giving them a chance to register what he had said before he leaped the length of the room, hidden blade out and ready to be plunged into Robert de Sable's black, twisted heart.

Malik shouted and tried to hold him back, grabbing at his arm in a way that was likely intended to throw off his momentum; that had to be the reason that his hidden blade had not sunk into Robert de Sable's flesh. And, likely the _only_ reason that Robert de Sable had been able to grab his wrists and restrain him so quickly. Malik… he would have to be reprimanded for this; no matter one's own preference, one of the Brotherhood was not to interfere with a target claimed by another.

It seemed Malik would need reminding of that when they all returned to Masyaf.

"You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin," Robert de Sable snarled, his voice low and steady. "I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message: the Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now, while he has the chance. Stay, and all of you will die."

Robert threw him from the room then, sending him crashing through a wall of old, crumbling stone that then collapsed, walling him off from Alnesr, Kadar, and even Malik. Narrowing his eyes at the barrier now sealing him into the empty room he had landed in, Altaïr knew that it would be entirely futile for him to attempt to break through the remains of the wall and the stone that it had been holding up.

Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the room; climbing ladders when he could and climbing the walls themselves when he could not. After what felt like more time than the four of them had even taken getting in, Altaïr found himself nearing the exit. He also found that the Templars had, all unknowing, provided the means for him to leave with more swiftness than that which he had when he had arrived.

Untying the reins from the post that the Templar had used to restrain his horse, Altaïr kicked the beast into motion and, reining it in, he rode for Masyaf.

For a moment, he was overtaken by thoughts of Alnesr; the boy was still merely an Apprentice, he had no weapons and did not possess the skill in unarmed combat that a full Assassin would have had. Still, the boy was _his_ Apprentice all the same, and would naturally possess a greater modicum of skill than any other Apprentice.

Alnesr would be well; he knew it.

He rode the beast harder than he would have any horse that had come from Masyaf, resting only when his own body demanded that he do so; he had nothing but the most practical of concern for the beast, and would not be dismayed if it fell down dead so long as it carried him to his destination. Quenching his thirst with the water-skin that had been strapped to the beast's saddle, Altaïr continued to ride.

The landscape was becoming ever more familiar to him on this, the fifth day of his journey, and so he knew that he would soon return to the place where he had lived for his entire life; he would soon be forced to report his failure to Master Mualim.

The mountain fortress of Masyaf loomed before him now, the city that their fortress and the Assassins within it guarded spread before him now, and he slowed the horse to a walk. Leaving the beast to the care of the stable hands within the city, Altaïr continued to make his way up the hill, through the city, and past all of the people that the Brotherhood sheltered. He'd never been one for the company of those who were not Alnesr when it wasn't necessary, and this time was no exception.

Making his way out of the city and up the winding path that would take him to the fortress itself, Altaïr felt a strong urge to go and cleanse himself in one of the fountains of his home. He'd not had the means to do so while he was traveling those five days, and now he was uncomfortably aware of all the dirt and grime that he had accumulated during his journey. He had already stopped beside a well to refresh himself, quenching his thirst and washing the dust from his face, but the feel and smell of his clothes was swiftly becoming offensive to him.

Still, he had a duty to report his failure to Master Mualim; his own comfort did not matter in the face of that.

As he passed through the marketplace, the warm, inviting colors highlighted by the shafts of sunlight slanting down from the sky, Altaïr heard the sound of another Assassin hailing him. Turning, he saw that it was Rauf; any other day, any other moment than this, he would have been pleased to see the younger Assassin. Rauf, like Alnesr, looked up to him; though Rauf's admiration was more pronounced than even Altaïr's own Apprentice's was.

Alnesr thought of him as a wise teacher, perhaps even a father when he forgot himself; Rauf had always seemed to revere him as a god.

If there had been a worse Assassin to have greeted him now, Altaïr could not think of who they might be.

"Altaïr, you've returned!" the younger Assassin called enthusiastically, smiling at him like a child. He paused for a moment, looking over his shoulders as if he expected someone else to come striding up behind him; Altaïr did not have to guess who that might be. "Is your Apprentice seeing to the horses, or has he gone on ahead to make his own report?"

"Alnesr is well enough," he said, that being the only thing he was certain of regarding his young Apprentice.

"It pleases me to hear that," Rauf said, smiling slightly wide; Altaïr hated himself for a moment, he had failed, and now facing the admiration that Rauf felt for him, he was made all the more acutely aware of that failure. "It is good to see that you are unharmed. I trust that your mission was a success?"

"Is the Master still in his tower?" he asked, changing the subject quickly so that he would not be forced to dwell on such things; he would be forced to confront his failure soon enough, he knew.

"Yes, yes," Rauf said, nodding and not seeming dismayed by the change in subject; he _did_ try to peer more closely at Altaïr's face, as if trying to determine the reason for it. "Buried in his books, as usual. No doubt he expects the two of you; or one, if Alnesr has indeed gone ahead."

"My thanks, brother," he said, nodding slightly.

"Safety and peace, Altaïr," Rauf said, still wearing his wide smile.

"On you, as well," he said, turning to continue his way up to the castle citadel.

He had never before found the edifice so utterly imposing before; it had been his home for as long as he lived, the place where he had both grown up and helped to raise Alnesr from babyhood into the dedicated, diligent boy that his Apprentice had become. Still, the fact remained that he was returning to this place to report a failure. He'd not expected to have to do so; he'd rode out those ten days previous with thoughts of returning in triumph, holding the Templars' treasure in his hands and with Alnesr's quiet voice regaling him with tales of his own triumph over the Templar forces in his path.

Now, however, he was returning to Masyaf empty-handed, and without Alnesr beside him, to report both of his failures to Master Mualim; the lack of his Apprentice by his side would be considered as great a failure as not retrieving the treasure that he had been sent out for. An Apprentice's place was at his Master's side, after all. And Apprentices such as Alnesr were not meant to fight alone.

He should have remembered that; the Master would no doubt berate him for that, as well as the failure he had returned to report in the first place.

The guards greeted him as they usually did, but Altaïr thought for a moment that he sensed additional hostility in their stances. It was likely an artifact of his own uneasiness, he realized after a moment. Moving closer, coming near to the grand archway that lead to the barbican, he saw a figure that he recognized. A figure that he was not particularly pleased to see: Abbas.

His fellow Assassin leaned almost insolently against the wall, standing beneath a torch that chased away what shadows there were underneath the arch. He was bareheaded, the blade of a full Assassin hanging from his left hip, and as his eyes fell on Altaïr his expression twisted into an ugly one. Altaïr could feel the sneer on his own face; there had once been a time that the two of them had been as brothers, even helping to raise Alnesr together, but that was long past.

Abbas was a bitter, pitiful shell of a man; nothing left in him but spite and vitriol, and so Altaïr spared him barely a thought.

"Ah, he returns at last." Abbas looked over his shoulders, still wearing the mocking smile that had when he had first deigned to recognize Altaïr's presence.

"Abbas," he greeted coldly, not willing to allow the bitter man the satisfaction of seeing him react.

"Where are the others? Did you ride ahead, hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loath to share the glory," Abbas looked over his shoulders again, an oily grin slowly spreading across his face. "I see your little boy is no longer with you. I wouldn't have thought that someone like you could ever tire of being fawned over, but I suppose it loses its appeal from someone you have seen suckling at the breast of nursemaids since he was in swaddling clothes."

"Are you done?" he sneered, feeling annoyed even in spite of the fact that Abbas' taunts were as pitiful as those of a spoiled child.

"I bring word from the Master. He waits for you in the library," Abbas said, still in that insolent tone. "Best hurry. No doubt you're eager to put your tongue to his boot."

"Another word and I'll put my blade to your throat," he snapped, having had more than his fill of Abbas and his insolence.

"There will be plenty of time for that later, _brother_," Abbas' tone made the last word an insult, and as Altaïr shouldered past him he used a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

Making his way into and through the courtyard and the training square – where he and Alnesr had spent a great deal of time between the missions that he had been assigned for the Order – Altaïr continued on his way to the entrance to Master Mualim's tower. The guards here showed him a bit more respect than the ones below, but Altaïr knew that that was not to last. Once word of his failures had spread to them, as it inevitably would, their respect for him would vanish like water on the desert sands.

Not stopping to heed any of the greetings from the Assassins around him, knowing that they would not be so pleased to see him for much longer, Altaïr moved calmly through the citadel on his way to Master Mualim's tower and the library contained within it. He was not going to delay any longer; as with all wounds, this one was best handled quickly.

He found the Master in his library, standing behind his desk and staring out a shaded window on the far wall behind him. It was a hard thing, what he had to do now, but Altaïr was determined to do it all the same.

"Altaïr," the Master greeted him.

"Master," he acknowledged.

"Come forward, tell me of your mission," the Master ordered, and for a moment Altaïr felt his throat close. Still, he had known there would be a price to pay for his failure; best it be paid quickly. "I trust you have recovered the Templars' treasure."

"There was trouble, Master," he began. "Robert de Sable was not alone."

"When does our work ever gone as expected?" the Master asked, sounding rueful. "It is our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."

"This time, it was not enough," he said, feeling again the shame of his failure.

"What do you mean?" Master Mualim asked, his tone sharper than it had been.

"I have failed you," he said, and the shame of it still burned him inside.

"And the treasure?"

"Lost to us."

Master Mualim's eyes narrowed, and he looked over Altaïr's shoulders, even as Rauf and Abbas had done in their turn. "Where is Alnesr? Why does he not return with you?"

"I do not know," he admitted at last; Alnesr was _his_ Apprentice, yes, but his own foolishness had likely cost Malik and Kadar their lives. He could only hope that it had not cost Alnesr his own.

"Then what of Robert?" the Master demanded.

"Escaped."

"I send _you_, my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before, and you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses? And worse, you betray your own Apprentice?!" the Master's voice was as the crack of a whip across his back, and Altaïr forced himself not to wince; this was no less than he deserved.

"I-"

"_Do not speak_! Not another word." The anger on the Master's face had diminished, but his tone was as sharp as ever. "This is not what I expected. We'll have to mount another force. Both for the treasure, and for your former Apprentice."

"Former, Master?" he asked, feeling a chill.

"Do you honestly think that Alnesr would still be willing to serve under the man that betrayed and abandoned him? Are you really so foolish? So arrogant?" The Master's eyes narrowed, though his silence seemed thoughtful rather than angry this time. "Where are Malik and Kadar? Have you betrayed them, as well?"

"I did all that I could," he said, trying to explain; not to defend himself, no defense was possible after this kind of failure, but merely to inform the Master of the circumstances that he had faced.

"It was not enough," came the voice of a ghost.


	3. Eagles and Fledglings

_~five days earlier~_

"Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!"

Finding himself in the midst of Robert de Sable's soldiers, with only his younger brother and an unarmed Apprentice at his back, Malik spared a moment to curse Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad and all his arrogance to the deepest depths of Jahannam. _Only_ a moment, of course; the Templars with Robert would not have been sent to this place under the command of a Grand Master if they were not at least as skilled as any full Assassin. Malik would need all of his skill and focus if he was to be able to protect both his own younger brother and Altaïr's abandoned Apprentice from dying at the hands of these Templars.

Raising his sword, Malik met the first charge and held it back. "Kadar! Both of you! Stay behind me!"

Neither of them were yet ready for this kind of combat; not against Templars under the command of a Grand Master. The boy was an Apprentice; more suited to gathering information under the command of his Master. Provided his Master was not the fool that Altaïr had proven himself to be, of course.

And Kadar… his younger brother was not yet so proficient that Malik was prepared to risk him against elite Templar soldiers such as these.

Slashing, hacking, and stabbing, Malik waded deeper into the press of Templars on all sides. He saw Robert leaving from the back of the room, but he could do nothing about it with the man's forces surrounding him on nearly all sides. One of the Templars managed to slip through his guard, but he found the blade blocked by that of another.

Looking over, he found that it was Altaïr's young Apprentice who had stepped forward in his defense. He held a stolen Templar blade, and the way he wielded it spoke of at least some experience. It at least told him that _he_ was not such a fool as to rush into a battle he was not prepared for, even if his Master was.

Malik would have asked the Apprentice how Kadar was doing, if there had been any time for words; if the tides of battle were not so uncertain, but there was no time for such things. He needed all his breath to swing his sword, as well as the short blade that he had pulled from the sheathe on his back. He could not ask how Kadar was doing, could not call out to his younger brother; all he could do was strike and block, dodge and defend, and hope that he could cut down the Templars in his path before either Kadar or Altaïr's Apprentice could lose their lives to one of the Templars surrounding them.

He could hear cries from all around him, and he listened for two particular voices amid the tumult; he thought, once, that he heard a cry go up from Altaïr's Apprentice, but there was nothing he could do under the circumstances but to keep fighting. The tide of Templars forced him back for a few moments, and he could see nothing but red crosses on a background of white.

Cutting the final Templar down at last, Malik heard the heavy breathing of another over even his own. Turning, raising his sword in case it was another Templar that he had to deal with, Malik instead saw the gray robes of an Apprentice. The short stature told him that it was Altaïr's Apprentice that he had found, and the bloody Templar blade still in his hand showed that the corpses fallen at his feet had not been put there by chance.

"Have you seen my brother?" he asked, catching his breath as he made his way over to the Apprentice's side.

"Forgive me, I lost sight of him," Altaïr's Apprentice said, bowing his head and incidentally showing more humility in that single gesture than his idiot Master had shown in the entire time that Malik had known him.

"You wouldn't be the first," he said, biting back a groan as the pain of his wounds hit him in earnest, now that the battle had ended. "Come, we'll search for him together." He would need the boy's sword-arm, in any case. His own felt like it had been all but shorn off.

"Of course," Altaïr's Apprentice said, raising his stolen blade into a guard position.

Malik had seen the blood dripping across his face, but since it had merely been coming from a cut above his right eyebrow, and since he already knew that head-wounds tended to bleed entirely out of proportion to their severity, Malik knew that any tending he would do could wait until the two of them had met up with Kadar. Or, at least until they had laid him to rest.

He was not about to allow hope to break his heart, even in spite of the fact that Altaïr's Apprentice had somehow managed to acquire a sword from one of his enemies; he wasn't about to think that Kadar could have been so fortunate.

As he came upon a large pile of Templar bodies, Malik swallowed the bile that crept up in his throat; Kadar lay there, impaled by many Templar blades. Malik did not bother to count them; it was enough to know that his brother had not been so fortunate as Altaïr's Apprentice.

"I… I am sorry," the quiet voice of Altaïr's Apprentice spoke up. "I should have stayed closer to him; protected him, when you could not."

Malik smiled slightly, but less bitterly than he would have done if it had been Altaïr himself. "No need; even _I_ lost sight of him in this madness. Let's just lay him to rest and return to Masyaf. I have what we came for, at least."

"Yes. Of course," Altaïr's Apprentice said, still sounding as if he blamed himself for Kadar's death; he would have to speak to the boy, while the two of them were on their way back to Masyaf.

It would not do for the boy to tear himself apart, thinking that he was supposed to have protected Kadar over even his own life.

Making his way over to the box that the Templars had been protecting – after directing Altaïr's Apprentice to bury Kadar where he had fallen – the one that they had all died for in this very room, he paused. There was little chance that he would be able to carry so large an object for as long as he needed to with only one good arm; he would still have done so, yes, if there were no other recourse, but there was _not_.

"Come here, would you?" he called, trying to remember the name of Altaïr's Apprentice.

He'd never really paid much attention to the boy before, save to remark on his odd eyes at one point before the Master had informed them all that such a subject was not important. He'd always just seemed to be Altaïr's quiet little shadow, and even moreso once he'd become the younger man's Apprentice. Still, seeing him now, watching as the boy dropped the stolen Templar blade and picked up the treasure box, Malik thought that at least Altaïr's Apprentice was not as insufferable as the man himself.

"Come, we'll have to find another way out of this place," he said, taking the lead, and looking back over his shoulder as the yellow-eyed boy fell into step behind him without a word.

The blood dripping down his face had dried, and was clearly starting to itch just as badly as Malik's own uncleaned wounds were, if the discomfort on his face was any indication. Putting those thoughts aside – he would make the time for them to tend to each other's wounds after they had left this killing-ground far behind them – Malik turned his eyes back to the path that he was leading them on. He would not be able to climb with his arm so damaged as it was, and the yellow-eyed boy behind him would be in the same situation, though obviously not for the same reasons.

Carefully making his way through the halls of the Temple Mount, his sword raised in case there were surviving Templars present, Malik sought a way out of the killing-field not far behind them. Soon enough, he found it. It was, likely as not, the rout that the Templars themselves had used to enter this place; none of them, after all, practiced the same arts of movement as the Assassins themselves had perfected.

"Come, I've found the way," he said, turning to look at the yellow-eyed boy behind him.

"Of course," the boy said, nodding as he clutched the box tighter and hurried his feet.

He lead the two of them through the winding halls of the Temple Mount, some of which they had been able to bypass coming in by taking the higher path that was now lost to them, and others that they had not, until he began to smell fresh air wafting in through the entrance of the Temple Mount.

"I seem to have forgotten your name," he said, turning to look back at the soft-spoken, yellow-eyed boy that tailed him so well. "Could you tell me it again?"

"Alnesr Ibn La'Altaïr," the boy – Alnesr, Malik reminded himself – said, continuing to follow him closely.

"Altaïr is your father?" he scoffed, slightly amused by the thought of such an arrogant man having such a tolerable son. "You seem to have inherited all the good sense in the family; you must take after your mother."

"Truthfully, I don't know." He looked back, watching as Alnesr shifted his grip slightly. "The Master said that Altaïr saved my life, and that because he did so, he was then responsible for it. I never knew my true parents; Altaïr never speaks of them." The silence between them was heavy with thoughts, and Alnesr had soon broken it again. "The one time I did ask, he told me that they were unworthy of consideration."

Malik narrowed his eyes; that sounded like something Altaïr would say, but what did the Master have to do with it? Putting those thoughts aside, promising himself that he would ask the Master about the matter of Alnesr, Altaïr, and their relation to one another once he and the boy himself had delivered this Templar treasure to him.

They soon reached the outside again.

"Hand me the box," he said, smiling wryly. "There's little chance of my riding a horse with only one good arm."

"Of course," Alnesr said, biting his lip as he handed the box over. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."

"Yes, I know," he replied, smiling at the boy even as he tucked the box under his good arm. "And, as I've said before, _you_ have no reason to apologize to me. You were not the one who got us attacked and nearly cost us the mission. Now go, tie the horses together, and we'll be off."

"Of course," Alnesr said, his nod more like a subtle bow as he turned to go about his work.

When Malik had finished getting the box properly settled under his good arm, he saw that Alnesr had also finished his own appointed task: two of the horses that the four of them had journeyed to this place on had been harnessed together. 

"Good work, Alnesr," he said, offering the boy praise in the hope of offsetting at least some of the uncertainty he was clearly prey to.

He honestly wasn't sure _how_ someone who had been raised by the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad could be so timid in the first place, but Malik had to admit that he much preferred it to any alternative. As he was helped onto his horse by Alnesr, smiling down at the yellow-eyed boy as he handed up the chest, Malik allowed himself to relax slightly. He would still need to keep his wits about him, of course, since riding a horse was not so simple as sitting in a chair, but with Alnesr guiding the lead horse, Malik knew that he could afford at least _some_ relaxation.

The day passed swiftly, and soon enough the two of them – or four, if one counted the horses – were settling down in a small island of greenery, in the shade of a single pair of palms.

"Can you give me some help with these wounds?" he asked, as Alnesr helped him down from the horse. "We should have time to tend to them before we sleep, at least."

"Of course," Alnesr said, reaching up to touch the dried blood streaking his face; it was only then that Malik noticed that it had sealed his right eye shut. "I think that would be best."

"Come, then," he said, deciding not to say anything; if Alnesr was not going to complain about his impairment, Malik wasn't going to give him a reason to.

Alnesr was soon tearing a spare blanket that one of them had packed into strips that would serve for making bandages, and Malik smiled slightly at his diligence. He might have been raised by Altaïr, as well as being apprenticed to the insufferable man, but Alnesr clearly hadn't absorbed any of the man's worst traits.

While Alnesr tended to the wounds on his arm, Malik used a wet piece of cloth to clean the dried, caked on blood from the boy's face, finally allowing him to open his right eye. Alnesr didn't make any gesture of acknowledgement, but the expression on his face was one of such fierce concentration that Malik didn't even have to guess why. Biting his lip after he had tied a last pair of strips of blanket into a makeshift sling for Malik's own wounded arm, Alnesr sat back on his knees.

"I'm afraid that's all I can manage," the boy said, looking from the sling and bandages that he'd fashioned back up to Malik's face, still with the same expression of uncertainty he'd worn ever since the two of them had been stranded together. "I haven't the skill of any of the healers back at Masyaf."

"I doubt any amount of skill is going to be able to help, now," he said, with a reassuring smile that he hoped Alnesr would respond to. "Those Templar dogs do their work too well."

There was no response from Alnesr, but he occasionally saw the boy glancing back at him as the two of them settled down to sleep. His last conscious thought was amused relief at the fact that Altaïr's son – blood relation or not – was nowhere near as insufferable as the man himself.

The next four days passed in much the same manner: he would check Alnesr's wound, after the boy had cleaned the wounds on his left arm and changed the dressings there, and then the two of them would settle down to sleep. He'd not known what to think, that first night when the boy had curled up next to him as they slept. As it turned out, the boy had just been seeking something soft to lay his head on.

It was amusing to think that he had done the same thing with Altaïr; he would not have expected the arrogant man to tolerate such a thing, but given the way the young Apprentice reacted, it seemed he did.

When the two of them finally returned to Masyaf, Malik was pleased to note that his wounds no longer pained him nearly so much as they had on that first day; uncertain as he had been about the quality of his work, Alnesr had done it well.

The mountain that their Order's fortress sat atop was coming into view, and Malik had never been more pleased to see it. Of course, the fact that he was returning with not only the treasure that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad himself had failed but also the arrogant man's abandoned Apprentice _was_ certainly a reason to be pleased: he had done what Altaïr could not. And, while it _had_ cost him the life of his brother, it had not cost him so much as it could have.

It had also given him the opportunity to get to know Alnesr as more than just Altaïr's young Apprentice, but that was not the foremost thing on his mind at this moment.

He had given the box to Alnesr to carry, once the boy had helped him to dismount and the two of them had left the horses in the care of the stable hands. The bindings on his wounded arm would need to be changed soon, that much he could feel, but now that they had returned to the fortress, he would be able to ask the healers to take care of such things rather than pressing Alnesr into service the way he had needed to do while the two of them had been between cities. Turning to look back at the boy following so quietly beside him, Malik found that Alnesr was worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"What troubles you, brother?" he asked.

"I just- I wonder what will become of me. Of Altaïr. We've returned with the treasure, yes," the boy said, looking up at him with earnest, worried yellow eyes. "But, I still wonder if it will be enough."

"You care very much for that man," Malik said, still unsure of quite how he felt about the matter; he would have said it was impossible for someone as arrogant as Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad to inspire honest loyalty in anyone, but the proof to the contrary was walking beside him even now. "Why do that to yourself? That man has hardly proven himself worthy of that kind of devotion."

"Worthy or not, Master Altaïr is the only family I truly have left. He has done so much for me, that I feel this is the least I can do to repay his kindness." Alnesr looked up at him again, and Malik knew the boy could see the expression he was wearing. "You may not understand it, but that _is_ the way I feel."

"Of course," he said, as the two of them continued walking.

On that last point, Alnesr was wrong: Malik _did_ understand now just what feeling was behind the loyalty that Alnesr felt toward Altaïr, of all people. It was the same kind that he had known that Kadar felt for him: that of family. Of people who trusted one another. Of course, it was odd to think of the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad as someone who could inspire such trust in anyone, but then Alnesr _had_ said that he had been raised by the man.

And, even one so arrogant as Altaïr must have had _some_ good qualities to have attained the rank of Master Assassin.

Their journey up to the fortress was marked by the stares of the guards and those of their fellow Assassins that they passed, and Malik wondered for a moment if Altaïr had told all of them that he, Kadar, and even Alnesr had been killed by the Templars who had been waiting for them in the Temple Mount. The ones that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad had been so arrogant as to challenge with only his unarmed Apprentice at his back.

Truly, the boy should have been angrier with the arrogant man for nearly getting him killed, or at least relieved that he was still alive to even return to the fortress in the first place, and yet it was obvious for anyone to see that Alnesr was still fretting over Altaïr. It was so much like Kadar had once done for him, a habit that he had had only limited success training his younger brother out of, that Malik began to feel a sort of kinship with the boy.

He may have looked odder than anyone – man or woman – that Malik had seen, with his pale yellow eyes and the bright, silvery-white hair that Malik could just catch a glimpse of under his hood, but Alnesr had indeed turned out to be far more tolerable than he would have expected, given who he had been raised by.

Making his way through the fortress, with Alnesr a silent but clearly fretting presence at his side, Malik began to hear the sounds of the Master and Altaïr himself discussing something. As the words became clearer to him, no longer muffled so much by both the walls and the distance separating them, Malik smirked slightly as he heard Altaïr attempting to justify his actions. Malik knew that he would not have been nearly so amused if he had been forced to make his journey alone, with the pain of his injured arm burning him almost as badly as the loss of Kadar, but having another to tend to his wounds, someone whose company was tolerable enough that he could relax in their presence and unburden himself somewhat, did help.

He was glad for small favors, at least.

"It was not enough," he said, just as Altaïr had spoken up, trying to defend the actions that he had taken – the way that he had _run away_ – back in the tunnels beneath Solomon's Temple.


	4. Turnabout

Both the Master and Altaïr himself turned to stare, as he lead Alnesr further into the Master's chamber; it gave him at least _some_ pleasure to see that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad – arrogant man that he was – was clearly feeling the same uncertainty that Alnesr had been prey to. And, while seeing that boy fretting the way he had been – and still seemed to be, when Malik took the time to study him – was somewhat worrisome to him, he thought that it was only right that the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad would suffer so for his own arrogance.

"We still live, at least," he said, resisting the urge to sneer at Altaïr, if only for Alnesr's sake.

He could express his full displeasure to the arrogant man when they were both alone.

"And your brother?" the Master asked, looking over his bandaged wounds and bloodstained robes with compassion.

"Gone," he said, feeling again the swell of mixed bitterness and pity; bitterness for the fact that his younger brother had been killed during a mission that would have been easy but for Altaïr, and pity for the fact that Alnesr so obviously still blamed himself for Kadar's death. "Because of _you_," he snarled at Altaïr, deliberately ignoring the way Alnesr briefly cringed at the tone of his voice.

"Robert threw me from the room. There was no way back; nothing I could do," Altaïr said, making a pathetic attempt to justify his actions; Malik did not think that even someone so arrogant as Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad could believe such words.

"Only because you did not heed my warning," he snapped, feeling a twinge in his useless left arm as he almost instinctively clenched his fists. "All of this could have been avoided, my brother would still be alive, and your Apprentice would not have been injured so." Turning slightly, he softened his expression for Alnesr's benefit; the boy was looking up at him with that same uncertain expression that Malik had come to dislike so much. "Your arrogance nearly cost us victory this day," he snarled, turning his attention back to Altaïr himself once again.

As much as he had come to enjoy the company of Altaïr's soft-spoken Apprentice, the man himself was not in his good-graces; there was very little chance that he would be again, unless the man was somehow able to change his ways.

"_Nearly_?" the Master echoed, looking at him with new interest.

He smiled slightly; this triumph belonged to both him and Alnesr, but the simple fact was that even if he had been forced to make the long journey alone, the fact that he had something to hold over Altaïr's head would have made him feel a great deal better about the situation. "We have what your favorite failed to find."

Nodding to Alnesr as the young Apprentice looked to him, Malik smirked as the young Apprentice delivered it to the Master, setting it atop his desk and stepping back with a respectful bow. The boy's gaze lingered for a few moments on the chest that he had just delivered, before he seemed to force his attention away from it. For a moment, Malik wondered what could have prompted such a reaction, but he was given little time to think of that, before a messenger burst into the room.

The sounds of running feet, the screams of those who could be either their fellow Assassins or citizens who lived in the town, and the unmistakable ring of clashing swords let him know what was going on even before the messenger could say a single word.

"It seems that we have returned with more than just the treasure," he said, looking to the wall where the sounds of battle were coming through most strongly.

"Master, we are under attack!" the messenger that had burst in shouted, all propriety forgotten under the circumstances. "Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf village!"

_~AC1~_

He had not been foolish enough to truly _believe _that his theft – the Assassins' theft – of the Apple would go uncontested by the Templars; however, he would have honestly preferred slightly more time to prepare for this battle. Still, such things could not be helped sometimes. "So he seeks a battle, does he? Very well, I'll not deny him. Go," he told the messenger. "Inform the others. The fortress must be prepared."

Returning his attention to the Assassin that he had taken under his wing – the one who had disappointed him so greatly this day – he frowned. "As for you, Altaïr… our discussion will have to wait. You must make for the village; destroy these invaders. Drive them from our home."

"It will be done," the young Assassin said, and he seemed somehow relieved to have been sent on such an assignment.

"Alnesr, return to your quarters; the battlefield is no place for an Apprentice." Though, it was entirely possible, depending on Malik's account of the boy's actions, that he would not remain an Apprentice for even the rest of this day.

"Yes, Master Mualim," the boy said, bowing with respect.

He noticed, however, that the child's eyes lingered on the box that held the Apple, before he seemed to force his attention from it; bowing a second time before he left. _Interesting_, Al Mualim mused; perhaps such obvious interest could be guided in the proper direction, given time. Now, however, there were more immediate concerns facing all of them.

"Malik, go to the healers, and have them see to your arm. Alnesr's diligence is clear, and it pleases me to see such dedication, but I would not have you overlooked."

"Thank you, Master," Malik said, bowing in the same manner as Altaïr and Alnesr before him, and retreating from the room even as they had.

Leaving his study behind, curious about the boy Alnesr's reaction to the Apple – he had known that the boy was not normal from the way his hair and eyes were colored, but he had never been given a reason to suspect that there was anything more to his appearance than the obvious – he nonetheless knew that his first task would be to prepare the Assassins to defend the city and the fortress that they claimed as their protectorate. His simple curiosity could wait until he had ensured that the Templars would not be able to retrieve the Apple. Not after all that he had done to claim it.

Speaking to the more talented and dedicated of the Assassins, Al Mualim arranged for the trap that he had helped to lay to be prepared to spring on Robert and his forces. Once he had finished with that, he turned his path and made for Alnesr's quarters. Finding his way to the room where the odd-looking young Apprentice had been quartered when he had gained his rank and left Altaïr's room, Al Mualim made his way inside.

He found the boy just settling down at his desk, after having divested himself of his outer robe; his odd, bright silver hair completely exposed.

"Alnesr," he called, drawing the young Apprentice's attention away from the contemplation that he had seemed to be absorbed in.

"Master Mualim?" the young Apprentice asked, looking startled. "What brings you here?"

"You seemed troubled by the presence of the Templar Treasure," he said, deciding not to mention it by name; the boy did seem leery, and it would be best to allow him to come to the correct point of view with a minimum of prodding. "Would you be willing to speak with me about that?"

"It- it is not that I was troubled, Master Mualim," Alnesr said, his strange, pale yellow eyes turning inward for a moment before his gaze settled again on Mualim himself. "The treasure… it seemed to- to draw me in, somehow. I do not know how I could explain it, but to say that- there is… something about the treasure that," Alnesr sighed, seeming to have run out of words. "Draws me to it, somehow."

"I understand; you've no need to say more," he said, pondering the full implications of what Altaïr's young Apprentice had said.

True, men were indeed drawn to the Apple, but that draw could only truly be exerted when a man – or, in rare cases, a woman – was in sight of the treasure itself. He had never heard of someone being drawn to the Apple when it was out of their sight, tucked away safely in a box; however, he had also never met someone like Alnesr. He had never put stock in the tales that Alnesr's strange eye and hair colors had marked him as a demon, and yet they _did_ mark him, all the same. Perhaps there was more to the boy than even he had suspected.

However, those speculations would have to wait; for now, there were far more pressing matters to attend to.

"We will speak on this matter later, child," he said, making his voice gentle so that Alnesr would trust him; Abbas' betrayal had hurt the boy deeply, that much was clear for anyone to see. "For now, stay in your room. I will call on you later."

"Yes, Master Mualim."

Returning the nod – though Alnesr's was more akin to a subtle bow – that the boy gave him, Al Mualim left the child to his contemplation. Time would tell if reaction that Alnesr had had to the Apple could be properly channeled, but for now, he had an old compatriot to meet. Robert de Sable would _not_ triumph this day.

_~AC1~_

Standing amidst his fellow Assassins, staring out at the corpses of the Templars whose blood now stained his robes and his blade, Altaïr couldn't help but wonder if what the Master had said was indeed true. _Would_ Alnesr indeed see his flight from Solomon's Temple as abandonment? As a betrayal? Would all the years that they had spent together – as Master and Apprentice; as the closest thing to family that was allowed within the Brotherhood – be tainted by that one, impulsive action of his?

"Altaïr," Rauf's call pulled him from his thoughts, and he was grateful for that. "Come."

"Where are we going?" he asked, feeling weary of all this: the killing, the necessity of it, and the uncertainty he was now prey to regarding Alnesr.

"We have a surprise waiting for our guests," the younger Assassin said, smiling slightly. "Just do as I do; it should become clear soon enough."

Rauf was pointing high above them, up into the ramparts of the fortress. Sheathing his sword and putting aside his doubts, as any good Assassin learned to do, Altaïr followed Rauf up the series of ladders that lead to the summit of Masyaf fortress. The leaders of the Assassins, Al Mualim among them, were all gathered there. He crossed the floor toward the Master, but Master Mualim said not a word to him, mouth set in stern disapproval.

Rauf said for him to take his place on the rightmost of three wooden platforms jutting out into the air, and Altaïr did so without a word. Now, finding himself staring out into the valley over which Masyaf fortress presided, Altaïr felt that he was able to breathe once again. The wind rushing around him, the familiar cries of birds carried on it, and the sight of them wheeling and swooping through the air, let Altaïr forget – for just a few, fleeting, precious moments – just where he was and what had happened to him.

The sight of the Templars, those both alive and dead, brought his attention quickly and firmly back to the present; there was still much work to be done.

"_Heretic_," Robert de Sable snarled from his place at the head of his reduced forces, his steed shifting slightly underneath him in spite of the beast's obvious discipline. "Return what you have stolen from me!"

"You've no claim to it, Robert," Al Mualim's strong voice echoed through the valley, and for a moment Altaïr found his thoughts turning to that very thing; the box had seemed to glow, but odder was the way Alnesr had reacted to it. It had almost seemed as if the boy _needed_ to be close to the treasure, or at least felt he had, and had only managed to force himself to leave though sheer force of will and the discipline that was ingrained into every Assassin. It was a troubling thought. "Take yourself from here, before I'm forced to thin your ranks further."

"You play a dangerous game!" the Templar snapped.

"I assure you, this is no game."

"So be it," Robert de Sable snapped, his patience clearly at an end; there was something else in his tone, as well… Altaïr didn't like it at all. "Bring forth the hostage!"

From the ranks of Templar soldiers, an Assassin was dragged forward. Gagged and bound, the young man nonetheless fought to free himself; it was an admirable thing, the determination displayed by all of their Brotherhood, but Altaïr had the feeling that determination alone would not be enough to win this day. Sure enough, once the Assassins had been given time to see the captured Assassin – a Novice, by the look of him – Robert signaled to one of his fellow Templars forward.

The unnamed Templar drove his blade into the Novice's chest, spilling the young man's blood all over the dry dirt of the valley.

"Your village lies in ruins, and your stores are hardly endless!" Robert shouted up to Master Mualim, as the Assassins around him caught their breath. "How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain when the wells run dry, and their food is gone?"

"My men do not fear death, Robert. They welcome it; and the rewards it brings." There was a note of definite gloating in Robert's harsh voice, but Master Mualim was as calm as ever.

"Good! Then they shall have it all around!" Robert shouted; if Altaïr could have seen the expression on his face, he was certain he would have seen rage.

"Show this fool Knight what it means to have no fear!" the Master said. "Go to god!"

Still, he knew that – Templar though he was – Robert de Sable was not lying. Nor was he arrogantly assuming that he could do more than he was capable of. The Templars were indeed capable of laying siege to Masyaf; cutting the Assassins off from the supplies they needed to sustain themselves, keeping them from obtaining food and water once their stocked supplies had run out. It would not be long, if such were allowed to happen, before the Brotherhood as a whole had been weakened enough for Robert and his Templars to attack with little fear of reprisal.

Altaïr could only hope that the Master's plan, whatever it turned out to be, would help them to avoid such a fate.

"Follow me, and do so without hesitation," Rauf said, bringing Altaïr's attention back to the mission at hand.

Without a word, Altaïr moved to the end of the platform he was standing upon and looked down from it. There was a pile of hay, enough to break a fall, beneath the platforms each of the three of them stood upon. He was beginning to see just what it was that Master Mualim had planned, and he hoped that such would be enough to deal with Robert de Sable and his Templars.

The sound of his robes flapping, a sound like soft rain or the lapping of the sea, helped Altaïr to leave his thoughts behind; something that he had long since learned to do once he had made his first Leap of Faith. Soon, he came to a place of stillness within himself; the place that allowed him to fight without fear, that allowed him to leap without hesitation from even the tallest of towers. Everything else, even the threatening words that the Master was exchanging with Robert de Sable, fell away then.

For a few moments, Altaïr felt as free as the eagle he had often been compared to.

"Now," Rauf said, catching what little attention Altaïr had spared for the outside world.

The three of them leapt then, wind rushing past them, and time ceased to exist for the few moments that he was falling through the air; all of his worries and thoughts for the future – his concern for Alnesr and what might become of them both after this day – washed away in the rush of wind.

He landed perfectly, the haystack breaking his fall as it was meant to do, and Rauf had done so as well, but the Assassin whose name he did not know – the one who had been placed on the leftmost platform – was not either so fortunate or so skillful; his leg snapped with a sound like a dry twig that had been muffled by cloth. Rauf was at the other Assassin's side in seconds, hushing him so that the Templars would not be able to hear him and thus spoil there plans.

"I'll stay behind and attend to him," Rauf said, once he had managed to quiet the other Assassin. "You'll have to go ahead without us; the ropes there will bring you to the trap. Release it; rain death upon our enemies."

Nodding, Altaïr left without a word and with only a single look back. He wondered for a moment just how his fellow Assassins had been able to set such a trap without him knowing about it, and if there were other facets of the Brotherhood that remained unknown to him. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, Altaïr devoted his attention wholly to the task he had set for himself: that of navigating the log-bridges, walls, and ledges that stood between him and the trap that Rauf had spoken of.

Standing at last atop the tall watchtower that overlooked the valley, Altaïr looked down through the spaces between the boards and saw the trap: heavy, greased logs stockpiled and resting on a tilted platform; many of them, perhaps even enough to kill or drive off all of the Templars before they could begin their siege. Moving with the silence that he had trained into himself over his long years of service in the Brotherhood, he looked down upon the ranks of Templar knights standing with their backs to him.

They had no idea what was going to happen, and for the first time in several days – as he raised his sword to cut the ropes holding the logs in place – Altaïr smiled.

The logs swept in, scattering the ranks of Templar knights, and killing more than a few, he was happy to note. Robert de Sable, mounted on his horse, was not among their number. It was a troublesome thing, that, but he was not going to focus on it. There was nothing to be done without archers, and summoning them was not his duty.

No matter _how much_ he wished to see a feathered shaft driven between Robert de Sable's eyes.

Below him, the other Assassins were beginning to gather, all of them seeming pleased with the outcome of this battle; those who had died during it would be mourned, yes, but the fact that the Brotherhood was alive and free to _do_ such mourning was worthy of note all the same. Still, he could not help but to think that this would not be the end of things; not after everything that had happened. Not after everything he had done, and everything he had _not_ done.


	5. The price of failure

Once he had finished his business with Altaïr – brash as the man was and had been, he was still a worthy member of the Assassin Brotherhood; he would only need to be reminded of what that entailed – Al Mualim made his way down the corridors of Masyaf fortress towards Alnesr's room. He'd spoken to Malik about the role Altaïr's former Apprentice had played in their escape from Robert de Sable's Templars and the recovery of the Apple. Then, once he had been satisfied with the accounting given the boy, he had made a stop at the both the tailor, and the weapon smith to pick up an item that he had given over to their keeping long ago.

And also to acquire an item that Altaïr's former Apprentice would be making use of a great many times in the near future.

Rapping on the door of the young, former Apprentice's – not that young Alnesr knew that, as yet – room, Al Mualim stood back as the door was opened. Alnesr stood in the doorway, the expression on his face one that Al Mualim could not quite place.

"Hello again, Master Mualim," the boy said, the unreadable expression on his face clearing, replaced with curiosity. "You said that you wished to speak to me," stepping aside slightly, Alnesr gestured to his desk and the chair that sat in front of it. "Would you like to come inside?"

"It is kind of you to offer, child, but I have matters to discus with you that require your presence in my study," he said; for a moment, Alnesr looked uncertain, but he soon put aside his doubts as every Assassin learned to do. "Now go; change into your robes and come with me."

"Of course, Master Mualim," Alnesr said, bowing and turning to do as he'd been told. "I will return shortly."

Waiting for a few moments, he smiled gently as Alnesr came back out in full Assassin regalia; the regalia of an Apprentice, yes, but he was not to know that this would be the last day that he would wear such clothes. He placed his right hand on the young former Apprentice's shoulder, guiding the boy gently back to his study so that the two of them could speak in earnest.

Making his way through the corridors and back to his study, Al Mualim found the curiosity that Alnesr's words about the Apple had awakened gnawing at him once more; still, he contented himself with the fact that the boy would now be reporting directly to him. He would be able to speak more candidly to the child, more than that, he now had a more than passing interest in the boy; to have seen his reaction to the Apple, even though the treasure itself had been stored inside the box that Malik had brought to him, that had not been something that he could have ever expected.

Once the two of them had reached his study, Al Mualim directed Alnesr to stand before his desk, and then settled himself in his chair behind it. Alnesr waited quietly, and Al Mualim was pleased to see the child's discipline even in the face of his obvious uncertainty.

"I can see that you are wondering why I have called you here, child," he said, making his voice gentle so that Alnesr could take comfort from it. "You, the abandoned Apprentice of Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad. A man, who in spite of all his years of dedicated service, made a grave mistake that revealed us to the Templars and cost several Assassins their lives this day." Alnesr's lips parted briefly, but then he seemed to think better of whatever it was that he would have said. "I have heard accounts of you from Malik; you have proved that the lessons that Altaïr taught were not wasted, though _he_ seems to have forgotten them, now." Alnesr's gaze was focused on his face, and while it was plain to see that the child was curious, it was just as plain that he trusted in Al Mualim himself to allay such curiosity; he was pleased to see such discipline in one so young.

Clearly, Altaïr had only passed the better parts of his nature onto the boy that he had raised as his son.

"Indeed, I will be counting on you, Alnesr Ibn La'Altaïr, to remind your former Master of the lessons that he has clearly forgotten."

"Forgive me for questioning your wisdom, Master Mualim, but how am I to do that?" Alnesr asked, speaking at last.

Al Mualim smiled gently, holding the knife he had been heating just out of the child's line of sight. "Give me your right hand, child."

Alnesr's hand, tanned by the sun and hardened from the work that the child had done during the seven long years that Altaïr had trained him – first as one of the many children within the fortress, then as a Novice, and finally as the man's own apprentice – was offered to him without hesitation. Gently spreading the child's – though, after this day he would no longer call the boy such to his face – fingers, Al Mualim grasped Alnesr's ring finger and drove his heated knife into the base of it.

To his credit, Alnesr did not cry out as his finger was severed, though he did hiss in pain. In that way, the child reminded him all the more of Altaïr. Fitting, of course, since not only had Alnesr been raised by the man, the boy had been trained by him since he was old enough to properly understand the role of the Assassins.

"Alnesr Ibn La'Altaïr, I hereby promote you to the rank of full Assassin, in recognition of your valor in battle, and the understanding of the Creed that you have demonstrated," he said, standing once more. "Now, Alnesr, follow me, and I shall complete your initiation."

"Of… Of course," the child said, his voice quavering but the expression on his face making it clear that he was merely excited and pleased. "Thank you, Master Mualim."

Leading the boy back through the corridors of the fortress, Al Mualim smiled softly. He could not deny that he, too, felt some pride in Alnesr; he had been the one to teach Altaïr of the Creed and what it truly meant to be an Assassin, and to see the proof that a pupil he had taught had been capable of teaching in his own turn was gratifying. True, he might have been holding himself aloof from these Assassins and their Brotherhood – and, he could at least admit to himself that he would have honestly preferred to instruct his students in the proper way of living – but seeing his own student become a teacher in his turn was indeed a pleasant thing all the same.

The two of them had soon reached the highest tower of the fortress, and Al Mualim lead Alnesr out into room at the top of the watchtower. The same place, in fact, that Altaïr, Rauf, and Hakim had leaped from in their efforts to deal with Robert's Templars when they had attacked. Alnesr stood in the doorway for only a few moments, before making his way over to the rightmost platform. If he had been the sort of man who believed in such things, he might have found it fitting that Altaïr's former Apprentice had chosen the very platform that the man himself had used to perform his first Leap of Faith.

Still, the rightmost platform was the closest to the entrance to the fortress, and that was most likely the whole of the reason that Alnesr had chosen as he had.

Moving closer as Alnesr stood at the center of the platform, turning as if to take in all of the valley at once, or as close to it as he could manage with only one set of eyes, Al Mualim saw that the young Assassin was not afraid – as some others might have been during a time such as this – he was clearly enthralled by the sight of the valley spread out beneath and before them. Making his way over to the young Assassin's side, Al Mualim placed his hands on the young man's shoulders, guiding his gaze in the proper direction.

"Tell me what you see, Alnesr," he said, subtly turning the boy so that he would have a better view.

"I see the valley that that the fortress stands watch over, and in the distance the village," the young Assassin said.

"Yes," he said, smiling slightly. While he might wish that he could have guided this boy onto the true path to peace, it was still pleasing to the teacher in him to see that Alnesr was so eager to learn. "The village that we Assassins have stood guard over for as long as this fortress has existed. The very place that the Templars would destroy, were they to be given the chance. It is the duty of every Assassin to take a hand in their defense, and they in turn contribute to our own survival by supplying us with food and clothing."

"Altaïr has told me that the villagers and the Assassins are two parts of the same whole; that we all stand together against the Templars," Alnesr said, the reflective expression on his face suggested that he was looking into his memories rather than down at the village before them.

"He still has some wisdom, then," Al Mualim said. "Still, you must be the one to remind him of the wisdom he has clearly forgotten at this juncture."

"How will I do that, Master?" Alnesr asked, odd, pale yellow eyes turning to regard him once more.

"First, you must truly become a full Assassin," he said, moving off the platform so that Alnesr stood alone once more. "Show me what it is to have no fear, Alnesr Ibn La'Altaïr."

"Yes, Master Mualim," the young Assassin said, bowing slightly to him before turning to perform his first Leap of Faith.

Making his way to the edge of the tower, Al Mualim watched as Alnesr emerged from the haystack and made his way back to the side of the tower. He had had little enough opportunity to observe the boy's training, his business with the Templars and the fact that Altaïr himself had taken on the task of raising and training the boy by that time, so seeing Alnesr make his way back up the side of the tower with such ease and strength was rather pleasing to see.

"Good work, Alnesr," he said, as the young Assassin made his way back up to the top of the tower. "You have proved your dedication to our Brotherhood, and thus proven that you are fully worthy to take your place among our ranks."

"Thank you, Master Mualim," Alnesr said, bowing slightly to him.

"Now, follow me," he said, turning to leave with a last look at the young Assassin. "There is still much for us to do, you and I."

"Of course, Master Mualim."

Reflecting back on the young man whose initiation he had just finished, Al Mualim felt again a sense of regret that he would be forced to treat the young man just as he would all of the other Assassins. Still, even for all of Alnesr's fine qualities, the child had still been raised by the Assassins and would hence need be treated as an Assassin himself. There was no time, and no point, in wishing things otherwise.

Alnesr and Altaïr were what they were, and Al Mualim was what he was; and if either of them were to discover his nature, then they would act as their own nature dictated.

_~AC1~_

Altaïr could not be certain if he were awake, dreaming, or if he had indeed died when the Master had stabbed him. He _could_ not know, for those first few moments, but as his vision cleared and Altaïr felt his senses slowly returning to him, Altaïr began to honestly doubt that he had died. He did not know how that was possible, considering that he _had_ indeed felt the Master's knife in his belly, but it seemed to be what was happening to him in the end.

As his senses slowly returned, Altaïr realized that he was standing on his feet. He did not know how this was possible, not after everything that he could remember happening, but that seemed to be the position that he was in. Altaïr wondered just where he was, if he had died and this was indeed the Paradise that they had been promised.

Still, if it _was_ somehow Paradise, it looked a great deal more like Master Mualim's study than he had been lead to believe.

The Master even stood before him, looking down with an inscrutable expression.

"I am… Alive?" he wondered aloud, hands moving instinctively to his belly. He expected to find the wound that had nearly ended his life, bandaged or not, and likely still bleeding at this point. He felt nothing, not even the wrappings that he had often seen on more grievously wounded Assassins. "But, I saw you stab me. Felt death's embrace."

"You saw what I wanted you to see," Al Mualim said, the inscrutable expression remaining in place. "And then you slept the sleep of the dead, of the womb, so that you might awake, and be reborn."

"To what end?" he asked, still attempting to regain his composure.

"Do you remember, Altaïr, what it is the Assassins fight for?" the Master asked, the inscrutable expression on his face remaining.

"Peace, in all things," he stated, still feeling rather off-balance but making the attempt to master himself.

"Yes, in _all_ things," the Master said firmly, almost angrily. "It is not enough to end the violence that one man commits upon another, it refers to peace within, as well. You cannot have one without the other."

"So it is said," he allowed, though there were times that he doubted.

"So it _is_," the Master snapped, the color in his cheeks rising the way that Altaïr had only seen a few times before. "But _you_, my son, have not found inner peace. It manifests in ugly ways. You are arrogant; overconfident."

"Were you not the one to say that nothing is true, and everything is permitted?" he asked; truly that had been one of the tenets that the Master had emphasized to him, and that he in his turn had passed on to Alnesr.

"You do not understand the true meaning of the phrase, my child," Master Mualim said, sounding disappointed once more. "It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish, it is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack."

"Then what is to become of me?" he asked, trying not to show the uncertainty he now felt.

"I should kill you for the pain that you've brought upon us," the Master said, his single eye focusing on Altaïr with an intensity that he'd not often seen. "Malik thinks it only fair: your life in exchange for his brother's." The way that the Master paused after making that statement seemed deliberate, and Altaïr steeled himself for whatever would come next. "But, that would be a waste of my time and your talents. You see, you have been stripped of your possessions; your rank, as well. You are demoted, a child, once more; as you were on the day you first came to us. I am offering you a chance at redemption. You will earn your way back into the Brotherhood."

"I assume you've something planned," he said knowing that it had to be true.

"First, you must prove to me that you remember _how_ to be an Assassin," the Master said, coming out from behind his desk to pace the length of it.

"So, you would have me take a life?" he asked, suspecting that such would not be the extent of his punishment.

"No; not yet, at least," the Master said firmly. "For now, you are to become a student once again."

"If that is the case, then what is to become of Alnesr?" he asked; he and the boy had served together – had _lived_ together – for so long that he almost did not know how to react to this. True, the two of them would likely have gone their separate ways once Alnesr had gained the rank of a full Assassin, but that time had not yet come.

"This is the first that you have seen fit to ask of him," the Master said, the inscrutable expression that he had worn earlier returning to his face. "Do you remember, then, the lessons that you taught the boy?"

"I taught him of the Creed, of the work that we Assassins do; just as you taught me, Master," he said, wondering what the point of this conversation was.

"Yes, and from the account that Malik gave of him, he has learned those lessons well," Master Mualim said, folding his arms and studying him closely. "Alnesr seems to have learned the lessons that you taught him better than the ones that I taught you, my child."

He did not know what the Master meant by speaking of lessons this way, but it was clear that he had some greater plan in mind. "So it would seem," he allowed.

"In the past, Altaïr, Alnesr would have gathered the information that you required to hunt down your targets, and others would have done so before Alnesr had taken his place as your Apprentice," the Master said, gazing down on him with a stern expression. "But no more. From this day forward, you will track them yourself."

"If that is what you wish," he said; it was not such a harsh punishment as he had been expecting, considering the disappointment in him that the Master had displayed so openly.

"You will also be accompanied by your new Master; watch him, learn the lessons that he has to teach, and I am certain that you will prove yourself worthy of rejoining the Brotherhood once more."

"_New_ Master?" he demanded; the thought that he would become an Apprentice once more was not one that had ever occurred to him. He could only hope that it was not Malik that he would be serving under; anyone else would have been better than that insufferable man.

"Yes; I believe that the two of you will get along rather well," the Master said, turning to look over at the far right side of his study, into the shelves of books and scrolls that Altaïr had long since stopped paying any particular attention to. "You may come out now. Come, there is no need for hesitation."

Another Assassin made his way out from the shelter of the shelves; this new Assassin was too short to be Malik, and the fact that this newcomer still possessed both of his arms let Altaïr know that this was not the man that he had wronged in the past. Still, that did leave the question of this new, smaller Assassin's identity unanswered as yet.

When the shorter Assassin turned to look at him, the first thing Altaïr noticed were his eyes. Pale yellow, like saffron-dyed cloth that had been left to fade in the sun. It was the first thing that had called his attention to the boy back when he had merely been a babe in his father's arms; that day, when he had first killed in defense of someone who could not yet defend themselves.

"Alnesr," he said, he'd not expected this; Alnesr was wearing the garb of a full Assassin, and when he looked to boy's right arm, Altaïr could see the bracer that held his former Apprentice's new hidden blade.

The boy's lips parted briefly, as if he wanted to say something but did not know just what to say in such a situation as this. "Altaïr," he said instead.

The uncertainty that Alnesr was so clearly feeling was perversely comforting to him in this situation; there was little chance that the Master had told him of the plans that he had made, if the boy was reacting like this.

"The two of you have worked together in the past, accomplishing more than either of you could have easily done alone," the Master said, looking over the both of them as Alnesr moved closer to him.

"Then, tell me what you wish us to do," he said, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Alnesr the way that they had done so often in the past.

The inscrutable expression returned to the Master's face as he took in the two of them, but he did not give voice to whatever troubled him. "I hold here a list; nine names adorn it. Nine men who need to die. They are plague-bringers, war makers; their power and influence corrupts the land, and ensures that the Crusades continue. You will find them all, and kill them. In doing so, you will sow the seeds of peace. Both for the region, and for yourself. Alnesr, your task will be to see that your Apprentice relearns the lessons that he has so clearly forgotten; just as he taught you your lessons in the past, it is now your task to teach him."

"Yes, Master Mualim," Alnesr said, though he still sounded rather uncertain.

"Nine lives, in exchange for my own," he said, contemplating what he and Alnesr would soon be doing.

"A most generous offer, I should think," he said, turning his gaze to take in Alnesr once more. "Have you any questions, Alnesr?"

"Where do we begin, Master?" his former Apprentice asked.

"Your journey will begin in Damascus," the Master said, sounding pleased with the resolve he now heard in Alnesr's voice; Altaïr was as well, but now was not a time to discus such things. "There you will find a black market merchant named Tamir; let him be the first to fall." Master Mualim made his way over to the cage of carrier pigeons that he kept for delivering messages to the Assassin Bureaus maintained in other cities, removing a bird from the cage, he cupped the creature gently in his hands. "Be sure to visit the city's Assassin Bureau when you arrive. I'll dispatch a bird to inform the Rafiq of your arrival. Speak with him; you'll find that he has much to offer."

"If you think it best," he said, wondering at just what message the Master was trying to impart to them with these cryptic words of his.

"I do," the Master said firmly. "Besides, you can not begin your mission without his consent, Altaïr."

"What nonsense is this?!" he demanded, affronted on Alnesr's behalf as well as his own. "An Assassin is not required to _report_ their activities to anyone."

"Alnesr will not be required to account for _his_ activities," Master Mualim said, his tone sharp enough to catch Altaïr's attention even in spite of the indignation that he felt. "But for yours. This is the price you pay for the mistakes you have made, Altaïr: you answer not only to me, and not only to your Master, but to all of the Brotherhood as well, now."

"So be it," he conceded, knowing that he would not be able to change the Master's mind now that he had made it up but still displeased by the situation all the same.

"Go, then," the Master said, his usual calm settling about him like a mantle. "Prove that you are not yet lost to us." There was a moment of silence, as the Master took something from underneath his desk. "Alnesr, come; take this." Watching in slight puzzlement as the Master handed his bracer to Alnesr, Altaïr wondered what the meaning of that action was. "Give this to your Apprentice when you feel that he is ready to carry it once again."

"Yes, Master Mualim," Alnesr said, only the tone of his voice showing the uncertainty he felt; his face was as professionally blank as an Assassin twice his age.

Altaïr felt a swell of pride; he had indeed taught his former Apprentice well.


	6. The hunters depart

As the two of them made their way down the stairs and away from the Master's study, Altaïr turned to look at Alnesr. His former Apprentice was staring down at the bracer in his hands, finally allowing his face to show the uncertainty he had clearly felt while he had been speaking with the Master in his study.

"Ma- Altaïr," his former Apprentice said, one of his front teeth showing over his lower lip for a moment. "Would you like this back?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, taking the bracer back and fixing it onto his left arm. "Come, we'll go to the stables and get underway."

"Of course, Altaïr," Alnesr said, nodding as the two of them fell into step with one another.

As he continued on his way, passing by his and Alnesr's fellow Assassins and finally out of Masyaf fortress itself, Altaïr breathed more easily. It felt as if he _had_ indeed been reborn, as Master Mualim had intended; an odd thing, yes, but it was the way he felt nonetheless. Looking over at Alnesr, Altaïr found that his former Apprentice seemed to be mastering the uncertainty he had been plagued by earlier.

The sudden reversal of their respective roles had caught the both of them off-guard; Altaïr had to admit that it was true even for him. The Master must have had some greater purpose for doing as he had. It was their task to adapt to it, as all Assassins adapted to their changing situations.

The fortress of Masyaf was far behind them by now, and they were beginning to encounter the villagers that worked in the valley as a gesture of thanks for the protection that the Assassins provided for them. Making his way down to the stables, Altaïr looked over his right shoulder at Alnesr once more. His former Apprentice seemed to have regained the composure that the events of this eventful day had caused him to lose.

It was good to see; they would both need their wits about them for this mission; these nine men would not fall easily.

"Mount up," he said, simply to fill the silence that had settled between the two of them.

"Of course, M- Altaïr," Alnesr said; Altaïr knew what his former Apprentice had almost said, and he could not quite keep from shaking his head.

This situation was strange for the both of them, clearly. He didn't know of any other pairs of Master and Apprentice who had been shuffled around as he and Alnesr had been. He did not know just why Master Mualim had decreed this, why he would have reassigned him and Alnesr as Apprentice and Master when the two of them had worked as Master and Apprentice for so many years, but the Master had to have had his reasons.

Altaïr did not know just what those reasons were, in the end, but he knew that the Master had them, all the same.

Mounted upon one of the many horses kept in the stables for use by both the Assassins and the villagers, Altaïr turned and watched as Alnesr mounted his own chosen horse. Nodding to his former Apprentice, he continued to watch until Alnesr had fully settled himself atop the horse, and then the two of them set off. The journey was not going to be a short one, and for that reason he had guided Alnesr to choose one of the horses who had been provisioned for long journeys such as the one that he and his former Apprentice were undertaking now.

Allowing himself to settle into his usual attitude of restful awareness that he had learned to maintain while on long journeys such as this one, Altaïr looked to his right. Alnesr's horse was close enough beside him that he could have reached out and touched his former Apprentice's left shoulder, but he would not do such a thing in this case. He would not distract Alnesr from whatever thoughts that the boy – rather, young man, now that he had gained the rank of full Assassin – was absorbed by.

Altaïr's own thoughts were in Damascus, with Tamir; the fact that he was being sent there as the Apprentice of the one who had previously been his own Apprentice was an odd one, to be sure. Still, there was also the matter of Tamir himself; Alnesr would not be the one assigned to collect the information on the targets that they had been assigned. It had been some time since Altaïr had been required to observe his own targets in the field, to track them down through various means and collect information in various ways, rather than conferring with Alnesr once the young man returned to him flushed with success.

Strangely enough, Altaïr almost found himself anticipating that; Alnesr had seemed to carry with him a sense of satisfaction as he completed the information-gathering missions that Altaïr had sent him on back during the time when the young man had been Altaïr's own Apprentice.

Still, if thought of another way, the fact that he was now required to go forth and seek information under the command of a boy six years his junior could easily be seen as a grave blow to his pride. Pride was what had brought him so much grief in the first place, however, and so Altaïr dismissed those thoughts almost out of hand. He would not allow himself to fail in this endeavor.

Their journey to Damascus was as uneventful as he could ask for, aside from the pilgrims on the roads that he had always seemed to encounter.

Alnesr fell in line behind him as the path before them narrowed, and Altaïr glanced back over his right shoulder at his former Apprentice. Turning his attention back to the path, Altaïr deftly guided his horse through the crowds of pilgrims, traders, and travelers making their way into Damascus. The two of them had soon come into sight of the large, imposing gates just outside the city.

He and Alnesr had visited this place the previous year, his then-Apprentice gathering the information that he needed to take the lives of the two men who had been his targets.

Before he and Alnesr could begin their work on this latest assignment – gathering the information that he would need to end Tamir's wretched life – they would need to enter the city itself. They would need to do so without being challenged by the guards, of course, since the success of their mission depended on their stealth and being able to blend into the crowd.

Looking to Alnesr, he tilted his head subtly to indicate that the young Assassin should follow him, and lead his horse to a post so that he could tether the beast. Waiting while Alnesr did likewise, Altaïr took the opportunity to study the Saracen guards that stood just outside the gates. They would be trouble if they managed to spot either himself or Alnesr, and were better avoided under all circumstances.

However, just as he had considered and then just as quickly dismissed the walls – too high, and too smooth to be scaled in any case – as a method of entering Damascus, Altaïr saw the group of scholars making their way toward the gates.

He knew that Salah Al'din respected scholars and hence allowed them to walk the streets freely, untroubled by the guards and protected from any trouble that the citizens might give them, and so he knew what the best method of entering Damascus was to be.

"Alnesr, come," he said, patting the young Assassin's right shoulder to draw his attention, then nodding to the scholars as they moved slowly down the path to Damascus.

"Of course, M- Altaïr."

The two of them matched the pace of the scholars, assuming their most pious poses and matching their own movements to the gait of the scholars on their way into Damascus. They became as one with the group of scholars, just as they had been taught to become as one with the crowds that they moved through, and in such a way they were able to make their way past the guards and into the city itself without being noticed more than any one person took note of a simple scholar.

Once the two of them had made it into the city, Altaïr did not allow himself to raise his head. They were still within sight of not only the guards, but also Damascus' large population itself. Fortunately, there were not many citizens about in this area of the city, so he was able to break away from the group of scholars and lead Alnesr through the streets.

Matching his movements to the few citizens in this area of the city, Altaïr searched for a way up the side of the buildings he was passing. He'd been to this city before, yes, but the memories of its layout had faded during the two years when he had been away; clearly, he would need to reacquaint himself with Damascus before he and Alnesr could properly begin their mission.

He had soon found a minaret that would allow him comparatively easy access to the roof, and turned slightly to signal to Alnesr that the young man should follow him. Making his way up the side of the building, Altaïr couldn't quite keep himself from maintaining a subtle watch on his young, former Apprentice; Alnesr climbed with the same confidence and skill that he himself had demonstrated. Truly, he had taught the young Assassin well.

Still, it remained to be seen how well Alnesr and he could adapt to their new roles; how well they could jointly carry out the task that the Master had assigned them.


	7. Reversed role reversal

Steadily climbing to the top of the minaret, Altaïr crouched there for a few, long moments; he had almost forgotten how enthralling the view of the city was from this high. Taking a moment to study the layout of Damascus more completely, Altaïr turned back to look at Alnesr. His former Apprentice was smiling slightly.

"You see it too, don't you?"

"Yes," Alnesr said, his pale yellow eyes half-closing as he too looked out over the city. "It always seems that one doesn't properly see the city, until they see it from this vantagepoint. Sometimes… I- I suppose we should go to the Bureau now."

"Yes, I suppose we should," he said; he would speak to Alnesr more plainly once the two of them had reached the Bureau and had been given the chance to settle in somewhat.

Turning his attention back to the view laid out before him, Altaïr searched for a soft landing-spot; finding a cart of hay, he waited for a few more moments until he could be certain that there would be no one to hear what was to happen, then turned back to Alnesr.

"Wait a few moments more, and then follow me," he said.

"Of course," his former Apprentice said, nodding calmly.

After a nod back to the young man, Altaïr turned his attention back to the cart that he had found. Leaping from the minaret, Altaïr felt the momentary freedom of the air rushing past him, before he fell into the cart of hay. Waiting a moment for the remaining people, those few who had not yet made it inside to attend to their prayers, to disperse, Altaïr climbed out of the cart and felt the hay falling away from his body. Moments later, he saw Alnesr dive into the cart himself.

For a moment, he thought to offer his former Apprentice a hand, but no; Alnesr was no longer a child. It would not be right if Altaïr continued to treat him as one. When Alnesr reached his right hand up hesitantly, Altaïr paused for a moment. Then, feeling the young man brushing his hood, Altaïr smiled slightly as a small piece of hay was dislodged and fluttered down past his eyes. Reaching out, he gently brushed the still-clinging hay from his former Apprentice's shoulders.

"Come, we'll be expected," he said, turning and nodding in the direction of the Bureau's tower, though it was not visible now that they were both standing on the ground once more.

"Of course," Alnesr said, nodding as the two of them made their way to a nearby building and scaled the wall.

Leading Alnesr over the rooftops and toward the tower that marked the Bureau's location, Altaïr dropped into the vestibule amid the sound of a flowing fountain. As Alnesr landed beside him, the plants muffling the sounds of their movements, Altaïr smiled slightly. Perhaps the boy _was_ no longer his Apprentice, but Altaïr could clearly see the results of his teachings.

Truly, anyone could tell that Alnesr had indeed been _his_ Apprentice.

Continuing into the main room of the Bureau after a moment, he saw the Rafiq lounging behind the counter; the man came swiftly to attention when the two of them entered, of course.

"Altaïr, it is good to see you again," the man said, nodding respectfully to him. "And in one piece, too." The Rafiq's smile was not entirely sincere; he did not like the look in the man's eyes, either. "And Alnesr, I heard that you have finally managed to attain the rank of Assassin; good work. I am certain that your Apprentice will learn a great deal from you."

"Thank you," Alnesr said, nodding respectfully to the man.

"I am sorry to hear of _your_ troubles, Altaïr," the Rafiq said, his expression still seeming rather insolent; Alnesr clearly either did not notice or was attempting to be polite.

"Think nothing of it," he said, already wishing to be about his business rather than dealing with this man.

"A few of your brothers were here earlier, Altaïr," the Rafiq said, that insolent smile still on his face. "Oh, if you had heard the things they were saying, I'm certain you would have slain them all where they stood."

"It's quite all right," he said, having long since grown weary of the Rafiq's insolence and false friendship.

"Yes," the Rafiq said, grinning now. "You've never been one for the Creed, have you?"

"Brother; enough," Alnesr said, his tone sharper than Altaïr had ever heard before.

"My apologies, Alnesr; I forgot myself," the Rafiq said, seeming humbled at last. "What business brings the two of you to Damascus?"

"A black market merchant named Tamir; Master Mualim has taken issue with the work he does, and has sent us to end it," Alnesr said. "What do you know of him?"

"Your Apprentice will need to track him," the Rafiq said, his gaze darting once more over to him; Altaïr gave the man a singularly unimpressed expression. He would not allow this man to best him in any manner. "Send him to search the city. Determine what Tamir is planning and where he works; preparation makes the victor."

"So I've been told," Alnesr said solemnly. "What can you tell us of Tamir, for a start?"

"He makes his living as a merchant, so the souk district would be where you would be best advised to begin your search," the Rafiq said.

"Are Altaïr and I to return once our mission is complete?"

"Yes, the Master _has_ requested that you both return once the information has been collected; I will give you the Master's marker then," the Rafiq said, seeming confused. "But, why would _you_ leave? You've no need to participate in investigations at your rank, Alnesr."

"I know; thank you, brother."

The two of them left the main room of the Bureau and its insolent Rafiq behind, Altaïr looked once more down at the young man – the young _Assassin_ – who had accompanied him on this mission,

"Thank you; you'd no need to put yourself forward on my behalf." Watching as Alnesr's expression became one of disapproval, Altaïr smiled slightly; it seemed even Alnesr's politeness and diplomacy had limits.

"He should not have been saying such things to you," Alnesr said, the disapproving expression on his face swiftly becoming something more of a scowl. "Any of our Brotherhood could have made that mistake; we are all, in the end, merely human. Even the greatest of us has flaws."

Even a day before this, Altaïr thought that he would have dismissed Alnesr's words, or at the very least merely considered them to be the words of a child who had spent too much time with his books. Now, however, Altaïr thought that he truly understood what the Master had meant when he said such things.

"So we are," he said; and, oddly enough, he felt lighter after saying that.

As the two of them made their way out of the Bureau and away from its condescending, stultifying Rafiq, Altaïr turned his attention back to their surroundings: there were women chattering by the stalls selling freshly-polished oil lamps, and nearby two men stood, arguing over some matter that Altaïr was too far away to discern.

"We should return to the rooftops; it will be a great deal more simple to find the Souk from there," he said, looking to the building opposite the Bureau they now stood in front of.

"Yes, I think that would be best," Alnesr said, nodding.

"After you, then, Master," he said, smiling gently.

Alnesr looked down slightly, his cheeks coloring. "Please don't tease me, Altaïr."

"Very well, Alnesr."

Once the two of them had made it to the top of the building, Altaïr searched for and almost immediately found the large Souk Al-Silaah in Damascus' Poor District. From there, according to what the Rafiq had told them, they could begin searching for information on Tamir. Of course, the Rafiq knew more than he had spoken of, but he knew that he was likely as not under orders from the Master not to speak of such things to an Apprentice. Alnesr could have perhaps asked for such information privately, but he had most likely not considered doing such, owing to his own still-recent promotion.

Altaïr would not hold such a thing against him.


	8. The work of an Apprentice

Leading Alnesr to leap across the space that separated the two of them from the next building over, once he was certain that there were no others who might be watching their progress, Altaïr looked back once to watch Alnesr's progress, before turning his attention back to the streets below. It would not be such a long time before the two of them would need to descend to street level once more.

"Make way!" shouted a man leading a group of guards; guards who were in turn surrounding the driver of an ass, pulling a cart that sagged under the weight of many stacked casks. "Make way! We come with supplies bound for the Vizier's Palace. His Excellency Abu'l Nuqoud is to throw another of his parties."

Not one of the citizens who had been shoved aside looked entirely pleased, but not one of them dared to question men in the employ of Damascus' Merchant King. Altaïr had heard of the man in passing; never more than mentions of the extravagant parties that he hosted, however-

"Altaïr? Do we not have business in the Souk?"

"Indeed we do," he said, clapping the younger Assassin strongly on his right shoulder. "Let's be about it, then."

Falling into step with Alnesr as the two of them continued on their way toward the Souk, Altaïr considered just what they were going to do. It was well enough for the two of them to travel together when they had just received their mission – though he was not honestly certain if the Master would have approved of it – but, now that they needed to gather the information to carry it out… the duties of an Assassin's apprentice were simple and well-defined: they sought the information that their masters needed, while those selfsame masters worked to hone their skills.

Now, however, with Alnesr promoted to the rank of full Assassin, and himself acting as the younger man's Apprentice… well, things had changed a great deal between them. _And yet, at this moment it feels as if nothing has changed at all,_ Altaïr reflected, smiling softly at his own thoughts.

"What are you thinking of, Altaïr?" Alnesr's soft voice came from his left this time, the two of them having changed places during the course of their journey across the rooftops.

Making a show of looking his former Apprentice over, Altaïr allowed his smile to widen slightly. "You are a rather small, and unobtrusive presence; very few people take notice of you, unless you go out of your way to draw their attention," he said, gently pulling Alnesr's white cowl down father over his silver hair.

"I suppose you have that much right, Altaïr," the younger Assassin said, appearing confused as to just where this conversation of theirs was going.

"This is a good thing, so far as one of our Brotherhood is concerned," he said, his hand on Alnesr's chin so that his fellow Assassin would not lower his head. "I think it would be best if you dealt with the missions that require stealth, and I will complete those that require that the target come to fear for their lives."

"Yes, I think that would be in both of our interests," Alnesr said, the smile on his face becoming rather wry. "I would be the first to confess that I am not particularly intimidating."

"Your appearance serves you well enough," he said, releasing the younger Assassin's chin so that he could clap him on the right shoulder once more. "Now, let's be about our work; we shall meet up in the Bureau to share the information that we have both managed to gather."

"Very well; safety and peace, Altaïr."

"On you, as well," he said, nodding respectfully as Alnesr parted company with him.

Taking only a moment to silently wish his former Apprentice good fortune in his endeavors, Altaïr turned his own attention to the task ahead of him. He had been hearing an orator speaking in praise of Tamir's deeds, hearing him more and more clearly as he and Alnesr had closed in on the city's poor district, and he thought now that the man could very well be in Tamir's employ, or at the very least he could know someone who was. Either way, this one would serve as a good enough stepping-stone to further answers along this path that he now walked.

As another crowd began to gather around the orator, the man looking them over with hard but interested eyes, Altaïr noticed that the man seemed to be waiting for something. However, as the crowd continued to grow larger, Altaïr realized that the man had only been waiting for enough people to gather around him.

"None know Tamir better than I," he announced boldly, voice carrying over the crowd with the experience of a man who had done such things often; perhaps this endeavor would prove even more fruitful than he had at first thought, Altaïr reflected. "Come close; here the tale I have to tell. Of a merchant prince without peer."

For just a moment, the orator paused, observing the mood of the crowd; gauging their interest. "It was just before Hattin; the Saracens were low on food, and in desperate need of resupply. But there was no relief in sight. In those days, Tamir drove a caravan between Damascus and Jerusalem. But recent business had been poor; it seemed there were none in Jerusalem who wanted what he had: fruits and vegetables from nearby farms. And so Tamir left, riding north and wondering what would become of his wares, for soon they would surely spoil. That should have been the end of this tale, and the poor man's life; but fate, it seems, intended otherwise."

As he listened to Tamir's man weaving his tale, Altaïr conceded that the orator did indeed know how to hold a crowd such as this in thrall. _All the better that he is dealt with swiftly, then. The Master says that Tamir is one of those who seeks to continue the Crusades,_ Altaïr reflected, none of his current thoughts showing on his face.

"As Tamir drove his caravan north, he came across the Saracen leader and his starving men; most fortunate for them both, each having something the other wanted. Tamir gave the man his food. And when the battle was finished, the Saracen leader saw to it that the merchant was repaid a thousand times. Some say, were it not for Tamir, Salah Al'din's men would have surely turned on him. It could very well be we won the battle because of that man."

Tamir's orator finished his speech, pausing for only a moment to observe the reactions of the crowd as it dispersed, a thin smile on his face as he stepped away from the stand and moved toward the market. Perhaps to make for another stand and from there to make the same speech in praise of Tamir and his "great works". Altaïr followed, keeping to the shadows when he could, and always maintaining a safe distance.

He still remembered the Master's words to him: _put obstacles between yourself and your quarry. Never be found by a backward glance._

He could feel the faintest of smiles on his lips as he tailed Tamir's orator; at the skills he put to use once more to do so, and the opportunity he was provided to shut out the many distractions within Damascus itself as he did so.

Up ahead, Altaïr watched in mild disapproval as Tamir's orator bumped into a woman, causing the vase that she had been carrying to smash into the ground. The woman, clearly angry, began to berate Tamir's orator, her right hand out to demand payment. Tamir's orator curled his lip, cruel and sneering as any of the targets that Altaïr had been sent out to deal with. Altaïr tensed for a moment, but when the woman cringed, pulling away and cowering from the displeasure of Tamir's orator, he allowed himself to relax.

He also made a silent promise to deal with Tamir's orator as soon as possible; to have his terror done with, finally and forever.

Pausing for a moment, when Tamir's orator kicked the shattered pieces of the vase, Altaïr moved again only once Tamir's orator had taken several steps. The two of them now stood in a narrow, all but deserted lane, dark mud walls seeming to press in on them. Perhaps a shortcut to the next stand that Tamir's orator would use; whatever this place was, in the end, it would serve his purposes just as well as those of Tamir's orator.

Perhaps better, considering what he planned to do.

Glancing back to make certain that he was alone – to be certain that his actions here would not compromise the Brotherhood once more – Altaïr took a few, swift steps forward, grabbed Tamir's orator by his right shoulder, and jammed the tips of his fingers beneath the man's ribcage. Instantly, Tamir's orator was doubled up and gasping for breath, his mouth working like a landed fish. Another glance confirmed to Altaïr that he was truly alone; stepping forward as quickly as he ever had, Altaïr delivered a final kick to the throat of Tamir's orator.

The man fell back in the dirt, his _thwab_ tangled around his legs. Smiling slightly as he watched the man clutched at his throat, Altaïr came to stand over Tamir's orator… _This was easy,_ he mused, and then frowned. Perhaps this had been too-

Tamir's orator struck like a cobra, kicking up and catching Altaïr square in the chest. Surprised, and grateful for a moment that he had not sent Alnesr on this particular mission – or any like it, for that matter – Altaïr staggered back as Tamir's orator rose back to his feet. The man had a gleam in his eye, knowing now that he had gained at least _something_ of an advantage in their battle.

The man's fists were up now; clearly he assumed that since he'd managed to gain a single victory, he would be able to win. Altaïr would show this man the error of such thoughts. Dodging one of the man's swift punches, Altaïr found out too late that such had merely been a feint as Tamir's orator caught him across the jaw with his other fist.

He almost fell, tasting blood and cursing Tamir's orator; and also himself, for underestimating his opponent. That was something only a foolish Novice would have done; or a fool, but he was trying at least to be less of one than he had been. Shaking the pain from his jaw – pushing it aside so that he could focus – Altaïr came forward and slammed his fist into the man's temple before he could begin making his escape.

For a time, the pair of them traded blows; Tamir's orator was smaller and faster than Altaïr, and he managed to catch the Assassin with a blow high on the bridge of his nose; Altaïr stumbled back, blinking tears of pain from his eyes. Tamir's orator seemed confidant of his victory now, a feeling that Altaïr knew he could use to his own advantage. He vowed silently that all of his pain would _not_ be wasted.

As Tamir's orator advanced on him, throwing wild punches in clear anticipation of an easy victory, Altaïr stepped quickly to the right, crouched, and kicked the man's legs out from under him in what would have almost seemed like a single, smooth motion to anyone who had not been trained as an Assassin. Even having knocked the breath from his adversary, Altaïr had too much experience with the man to count on merely a single blow to keep him at bay.

Spinning back toward the supine form of Tamir's orator as he lay gasping for air on the ground, Altaïr drove his right knee directly into the man's groin. He was both relieved and gratified to hear the man's pained sound – almost like a dog's bark – and to see the way he folded on the ground like an empty sack. Rising back to his full height, shoulders still heaving from his heavy breaths, Altaïr watched calmly as Tamir's orator continued to struggle voicelessly on the ground.

When the man had finally managed to recover enough to take full breaths, Altaïr squatted down to his level and pressed his face in close.

"You seem to know quite a bit about Tamir," he said, using his superior positioning to intimidate Tamir's orator as he lay in the dust of the alley. "Tell me what he's planning."

"I know only the stories I tell," the man groaned; either more pitiful than he looked, or else trying to make himself sound so. "Nothing more."

Altaïr showed only a singularly bland expression on his face; the same that he had always worn when he was about to kill one of his targets, something that would let that target know that they were only one more in a long line of lives that had been ended by his blade. "A pity. There's no reason to let you live if you've nothing to offer in return."

"Wait. Wait!" Tamir's orator held up a trembling hand. "There _is_ one thing."

"Continue," he allowed, secretly pleased but outwardly as impassive as ever.

"He is preoccupied as of late. He oversees the production of many, many weapons-"

"What of it?" he demanded, in no mood to have his time wasted. "They are meant for Salah Al'din's army. This does not help me, which means it does not help _you_," he reached forward, watching as Tamir's orator cringed and cowered beneath him.

The man broke rather quickly after that. "_No!_ Stop! Listen. Not Salah Al'din. They're for _someone else_. The crests these arms bear, they're different. Unfamiliar. It seems that Tamir supports another… but I know not who."

He nodded, considering; it seemed this task might become more complicated than the Master had implied, at first. "Is that all?"

"Yes. _Yes!_" Tamir's orator said, his tone almost pleading. "I've told you everything I know!"

"Then it's time for you to rest." Driving his hidden blade deep into the man's sternum, Altaïr gently lowered the man's body to the ground.

There was bloody foam on the man's lips, and as Altaïr gently closed the man's eyes and moved his body so that it lay behind a line of old, stinking barrels that had been filled with refuse, he nodded slightly to the corpse – likely as not, he had merely worked for coin, rather than having any personal loyalty to the man – and made his way out of the alley. He would need more information before he went to meet with Alnesr back in the Bureau, that much was plain.

He did not know just what would be done when the time came for Tamir himself to be dealt with – Alnesr was indeed a full Assassin, but his hands remained unstained with blood – but Altaïr knew that the time to deal with that matter when they had both finished gathering the full information they needed to ensure that Tamir died cleanly.

Moving further into the city, Altaïr caught sight of some of the usual rabble of guards abusing a citizen. _More of those who abuse their power,_ he mused, his mouth turning down in disapproval. The people here remembered the Assassins as those who served the cause of justice; those who would take it upon themselves to see that no innocents were abused while they were present and could prevent such things. It fell upon him, therefore, to uphold such a reputation.

_~AC1~_

Leaving the bench, still contemplating the information that he had gleaned during the time he had been pretending to rest from the heat, Alnesr began to hear the sounds of men speaking to one another. It seemed as if one of them was angry with the other; clearly, that man worked for Tamir. Moving in behind the more timid man – the one who had been intimidated by Tamir's man – Alnesr paced him in the same way that he had done with so many of his other unwitting informants. Moving in close, just when the man's attention was distracted by a large knot of people, Alnesr darted his left hand in and out of the man's pouch as quickly and smoothly as he had seen Altaïr do during their lessons together.

Tucking the letter into his robes, taking a moment to ensure that it was as secure as he could manage while walking, Alnesr melted back into the crowds.

He wondered for a moment if Altaïr would be proud of his accomplishments, before setting such vain preoccupations aside; even if he _could_ afford to think of such things, they had been and remained unimportant. Even when Altaïr _had_ been his master, Alnesr could not afford to entertain such vanities as to allow himself to be preoccupied with Altaïr's approval where such minor things were concerned.

The sounds of another discussion – more than simply the two people he had heard arguing before – drew Alnesr's attention, and he moved to observe them. As before, these men were discussing a letter that they were to deliver; this time to Abu'l Nuqoud. Waiting until the man carrying the letter had become distracted, Alnesr moved in and quickly removed the letter from his pouch, melting back into the crowds before the man could take any notice of him.

Tucking the second letter that he had stolen into his robes with the other, Alnesr noticed a group of merchants huddled together and talking in low tones.

"He's called another meeting." Alnesr thought the man was likely speaking about Tamir, and so he moved to stand nearer to them while turning so that he seemed to be watching the flow of the people through the marketplace.

"What is it this time? Another warning? Another execution?"

"No," said the first man. "He has work for us to do."

"He's abandoned the ways of the merchant guild. Does as he pleases now," the third man grumbled.

When they began to speak of another deal – one of the men said that it was the largest ever – Alnesr first thought that he would find out just what it was that Tamir was ultimately planning, and perhaps just why it was that the Master had chosen _him_ of all people to die this day, but the men had soon fallen silent, looking around as if they expected someone unfriendly to be watching them.

"It is not safe to speak of such things so openly; Tamir has ears even _we_ know nothing about."

The other merchants agreed quickly, and the three of them dispersed into the crowds without saying another word. Alnesr could at least say that he had learned _something_ from their conversation, even if it was not as much as it could have been. A snatch of overheard conversation drew Alnesr's attention to a pair of old men – one wearing a turban and one bareheaded – speaking with one another.

"I'm telling you, it's rats," the one with no turban, gray-bearded and balding, said with annoyance.

"No, it's children!" the man in the turban said, sounding oddly cheerful. "I hear them laughing."

"Rats or children, either way it's bad for business," the turbanless, balding man said. "All that noise! Someone needs to get up on those beams and clear them out!"

"I wonder how they're getting up there," the other man said. "Must be through the central courtyard."

"Then we should ask the guard to take a look!" the graybeard said.

The man in the turban made a disparaging noise. "They're all much too busy polishing the backside of their master."


	9. Separate but Equal

Moving on, before the people milling around them could take notice of how long he had stopped without buying anything from the various stalls around him, Alnesr began to hear the sounds of a struggle. Pausing for a moment, knowing that it was now his duty to uphold the values that the Assassins were known for just as it was Altaïr's. However, the fact remained that not many outside the ranks of the Assassins themselves were particularly inclined to look past his appearance – particularly his yellow eyes – when he spoke to them.

Still, his own feelings on the matter were not important; there was an innocent being abused by those who felt secure in their power, and it was his duty as an Assassin to help them.

Moving forward once more, following the sounds of the woman struggling against a group of the corrupt guards that had been showing up more and more often of late, Alnesr loosened one of his throwing knives – the same ones that the Master had provided for him when he had first attained his present rank – and sent it flying into the bared throat of one of the men. He saw now that they had been accosting a woman, and as he loosed more of his throwing-knives into their throats, Alnesr saw that she was beginning to look in his direction.

She knew that he was there, now – knew that he had acted in her defense, and likely as not recognized that his garb marked him as a member of the Brotherhood – and when the last of the men harassing her had fallen dead to the ground, the woman turned to look at him.

Alnesr ducked his head slightly, enough so that the woman whose life he had saved would not be able to see his eyes – their color having bought him more than enough trouble outside of Masyaf in the past – and made to turn away and leave before the shouts of 'beast' or 'demon child' could follow him. The woman called out once, but Alnesr knew that – aside from his personal desire not to be disparaged another time – he had his duty to the Brotherhood to consider as well.

He had learned a great deal about Tamir and his habits; it was time that he made his report.

_Or, can I truly call it a report, when I am not strictly reporting my discoveries?_ Alnesr wondered for a moment, even as he made his way back up to the rooftops. It was still an odd thing for him to consider, the fact that he now outranked a man who had been his mentor for as long as he could remember. Odd, and somehow _wrong_; he would not and did not wish to begin questioning the dictates of Master Mualim, but he could not help but wonder if another Master and Apprentice pair had had their ranks inverted in the same way that he and Altaïr had had.

Sighing, Alnesr put those thoughts out of his mind; they were merely a distraction at this point. _Still, I do not think the Master would think me too insolent if I asked him about this. What it all means; what he intended by this._ His mind made up, Alnesr set his concerns aside for the moment, focusing once more on his ultimate destination. Altaïr awaited him at the Bureau.

_~AC1~_

Even with the detours that he had made, Altaïr found that he had managed to return to the Bureau just before Alnesr. Stepping to the left as the young Assassin climbed fully down into the building, Altaïr smiled proudly. True, he could not take _all_ of the credit for the prowess that Alnesr had demonstrated this day, but the young man truly _was_ his Apprentice.

Or he had been, before today.

"Welcome back, Alnesr," he said. "I trust that your search was fruitful."

"As much as yours, I expect," Alnesr said, bowing slightly to him.

"Well then, shall we speak of what we found?" he asked.

"Yes, I think the Rafiq will be pleased to hear of what we discovered."

"Come, then," he said, gesturing toward the archway that would lead the two of them into the Bureau's main room. The two of them spoke in low tones; he providing the knowledge that Alnesr lacked, and Alnesr discussing what he had learned as well.

"Altaïr! Alnesr! Welcome, welcome!" the Rafiq smirked slightly as the two of them made their way back into the main room.

Altaïr wondered, for a handful of moments, whether the man could tell that he had taken a life this day – one more in a long line of them, yes – and Alnesr had not. It was an odd thing to think about at such a time, whether or not the stench of death clung to him at moments such as these, and yet Altaïr found himself wondering all the same. Clearly it was not a thing that upset Alnesr; still, Alnesr had been training for the day that he would take his first life nearly since the day he could walk.

It was just as clear that he could not measure the reactions of those uninvolved in the business of death by Alnesr.

"Come now, tell me all of what you've found out about Tamir," the Rafiq said, his gaze focused almost entirely on Alnesr. "I'm sure you know a great deal by now, young Assassin."

"Tamir rules over the Souk Al-Silaah," Alnesr said, his expression becoming pensive for a moment; clearly, he had seen the fearful glances of the merchants, and those who had had the misfortune to find themselves out of the merchant's good graces. "He makes his fortune selling arms and armor, and is clearly supported in this endeavor by many: blacksmiths, traders, and financiers."

"He's the largest death dealer in the land," Altaïr spat, thinking of the many innocents that had doubtless found themselves on the wrong end of the many, many weapons that Tamir sold.

"Yes," Alnesr said, his tone thoughtful.

"Well then, have you devised a way to rid us of this blight, Alnesr?"

"A meeting is being arranged at Souk Al-Silaah, to discuss an important sale," Alnesr said. "The merchants say that it is the largest deal that Tamir has ever made; he'll be distracted with his work then."

"And that is when you shall strike? Excellent!" the Rafiq said, speaking too fast for anyone to get a word in edgewise. "Well then, I will give you Al Mualim's marker, and you will give us Tamir's life."

So saying, the Rafiq quickly reached under his desk and produced a feather from one of the Master's birds; the marker that would be stained with Tamir's blood once the merchant's life had been ended. It would also mark the end of what little innocence that Alnesr had managed to preserve considering the nature of his work. Alnesr took the marker without hesitation, but when the two of them had reached the outer room of the Bureau, he saw that Alnesr's expression had become rather pensive.

"Come, we should rest for the night," he said, gesturing to the pile of cushions and blankets that would provide them at least _some_ comfort while they took their repose.

"Thank you, Altaïr," Alnesr said, smiling briefly before his attention drifted back to the feather he was almost absently spinning between his fingers.

"Alnesr, you've never observed me during one of my kills," he said, drawing the young Assassin's attention back to him. Alnesr's hands stilled, his pale yellow eyes fixing on Altaïr's face.

"No; I did not think to do such a thing," the young Assassin said, looking back down at the feather he held in his hands.

"Perhaps, then, you should wait until the next mission, and take care to observe me closely when I make this kill," he suggested, knowing that – while Alnesr _had_ surpassed him in rank for the moment – his former Apprentice's hands were as yet unstained with blood.

Aside from sentimental concerns, which Altaïr could at least admit to _himself_ that he possessed, he did not know how Alnesr would handle his first kill if he had not been prepared for it beforehand.

"You would do that for me, Altaïr?" Alnesr asked, turning earnest, pale yellow eyes back to him from the feather that he had been examining.

"I think it best that you are more prepared, before you stain your hands for the first time," he said, smiling so that Alnesr could understand that such was not his _only_ reason. "It is not an easy task, necessary though it may be."

"Thank you, Altaïr," Alnesr said.

Altaïr smiled back in response to the young Assassin. "Get some sleep; we have much to do tomorrow."

"Of course."

The two of them settled down into the nest of cushions, Alnesr's head coming to rest against the left side of his chest. Looking down at the young Assassin sleeping by his side, Altaïr reflected on the child that Alnesr had been, and the man he was swiftly becoming. He thought that this might have been how his own father felt, if the two of them had known each other as more than fellow Assassins.

He also thought it might have been how Master Mualim felt about them all; every Assassin in the Brotherhood.

Letting himself drift off into sleep, lulled by Alnesr's soft breathing, Altaïr reflected for a moment that this next day would truly be the last day that his former Apprentice could be considered in any way a child.


	10. Tamir

When the sun rose, bringing awareness of the world back once more, and hence awareness of the work that they would soon be doing, Alnesr opened his eyes and rose quickly to his feet. Altaïr was, naturally, already awake and preparing the few weapons that he still possessed. The two of them shared a silent breakfast of dates, figs, and dried strips of meat, washed down with water from the skins that had been stored for just that purpose.

The two of them left the Bureau after they had given their food time to settle, taking to the rooftops on their way to the Souk; for him, to see his first life taken in the Assassin manner, and for Altaïr to do the deed itself. The feather that he had received from the Rafiq remained tucked into his robes; he had attempted to give it to Altaïr, but his former Master had advised him to keep it, a smile on his face as if he had some other plan in mind.

Likely as not, he did.

Once they had reached the Souk once more, Alnesr found that there was a great crowd gathering about a sunken, ceremonial courtyard in the center of it. The reason for such a gathering swiftly became clear: a tall, regal-looking man stood there, two stout bodyguards at his back. The man himself wore silks in rich, dark colors, as well as a checked turban, and leg wrappings.

His teeth were bared beneath a thin, dark mustache; this could only be Tamir.

Altaïr nodded to him, and Alnesr faded into the outside of the crowd, always careful to keep both Tamir and Altaïr himself within his sight. There were traders gathering, some of them with worried expressions and others wearing those of relief, so it became yet more obvious that Tamir for all his power and influence, was not well liked.

"If you would just have a look-"

"I've no interest in your calculations, the numbers change _nothing_," Tamir snapped, cutting off the man cringing before him. "Your men have failed to fill the order, which means that I have failed my client."

The merchant swallowed fearfully, even as Alnesr wondered just who Tamir's client was. Clearly, this client he spoke of was important in some way. The merchant searched the crowd, and for a moment Alnesr wished that he could help the man; clearly, he merely worked for Tamir out of the need for coin that all but those who had been born to riches were subject to. Still, it was not his place to act in defense of this man, at this time and this place.

To act here and now would be to compromise the Brotherhood, and it would likely do no good in any case.

"We need more time," the merchant pleaded; clearly attempting to appeal to a sense of mercy that Tamir entirely lacked.

"This is the excuse of a lazy or incompetent man," Tamir said, his tone rife with insinuations. "Which are you?"

"Neither," the merchant said, wringing his hands in obvious terror.

"What I see here says otherwise," Tamir said, raising his right foot onto a low wall and leaned forward on his knee. He was clearly attempting to appear at ease, something that neither Alnesr nor the merchant before him were foolish enough to trust. "Now, tell me: how do you intend to solve this problem of ours? Those weapons are needed _now_."

"I see no solution," the merchant stammered, still fearful of what was to come. "The men work day and night, but your… client requires so much. And the destination… it is a difficult route."

"Were it only that you could produce weapons with the same skill as you produce excuses," Tamir said, laughing; clearly either mocking the old man before him, or attempting to play to the crowd. Possibly both at once.

There came a few, scattered laughs; clearly caused chiefly by their fear of Tamir rather than the quality of his humor. The more Alnesr observed the hateful black market merchant, the more he became convinced that the world as a whole would be better off without him. Clearly, Master Mualim's choice of targets was as wise as he had come to expect.

"I have done all I can," the old merchant insisted; his voice quavered still, and perspiration clearly showed on the headband of his turban.

"It is not enough," Tamir said, still making his vain attempt to appear good-humored.

"Then perhaps you ask too much," the old merchant said.

The expression of false good-humor evaporated from Tamir's face like morning mist. "Too much?" he echoed, something harder and more unpleasant in his voice than what Alnesr had heard before. "I gave you _everything_. Without me, you would still be charming serpents for coin. All I asked in return was that you fill the orders I bring you. And now you say I ask _too much_?"

Tamir drew a small dagger, the blade glinting in the sunlight. Those in the crowd shifted in discomfort, while Alnesr drew himself up straighter. Soon, it would be time for this to end. And, futile though it was to wish that it could end sooner, Alnesr found himself doing that very thing for a moment before he remembered himself. It was not for him, to decide who lived and who died.

The old merchant had dropped to his knees by now, looking up at Tamir with pleading hands and tearful eyes. Tamir glared down at the old merchant, his expression one of open contempt, then he spat. The old merchant stumbled, blinking phlegm from his eyes.

"You _dare_ disrespect me?!" Tamir roared, righting himself from his own stumble.

"Peace, Tamir," the old merchant pleaded. "I meant no insult."

"Then you should have kept your mouth shut," Tamir snarled.

The bloodlust all but glittering in Tamir's eyes let Alnesr know that the man would not be satisfied with merely leaving things as they stood. Tamir swiped at the old merchant with the dagger he had drawn, opening a rip in the old man's tunic that swiftly became stained with blood. The old merchant fell back on his heels, uttering a high, keening scream that drove Alnesr's heart to pounding and made him wish all the more that he could intervene in the injustice he was bearing witness to.

"No, stop!" the old merchant screamed.

"Stop!" Tamir mocked. "I'm just getting started!"

Stepping forward, Tamir drove his dagger deep into the old merchant's belly, driving him to the ground as the old man screamed and pleaded for mercy.

"You came into _my_ souk!" Tamir shouted, driving his dagger into the old merchant as if in further emphasis of his words. "Stood before _my_ men!" Another stab; the old merchant was rolling on the ground now, beyond all help. "And dared to insult _me_?! You! Must! Learn! Your! Place!"

Each word was now punctuated with a stab; the old merchant was long dead by that time, and Alnesr bowed his head slightly. He might not have known the man as anything more than a victim of Tamir's savagery, but it was more than clear by now that the world at large would not miss another man such as Tamir.

"No, leave him," Tamir said breathlessly, waving off the bodyguard who had been about to move the old merchant's corpse. "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you: think twice before you tell me something cannot be done. Now get back to work."

Tamir and his guards left the old man's corpse to rot in the street – there was already a dog sniffing at it – and in moments it was as if the old merchant had not existed in the first place. As if he had been forgotten by all but the two Assassins who had borne witness to his last moments. Catching Altaïr's eye, Alnesr found that his former Master was just as angered by this turn of events as he was.

The two of them stole swiftly and silently through the crowds after Tamir, heads bowed so that the people around them would not be able to carelessly glimpse their intent. Tamir's bodyguards were no longer quite so close that they would be able to easily interfere with the work that he and Altaïr had been sent to do this day, but Tamir was now speaking to one of the traders that worked for him.

"I can't sell _this_," he sneered, scorn in every line of his face. "Melt it down and try again. And if it comes out just as poorly, it'll be _you_ who gets melted down next." Eyes wide, the trader nodded frantically. "I don't understand what it is you do all day. Your stall is filled with goods; it should be your purse that is filled with coin. Why can't you sell these things? It isn't difficult." An ugly, suspicious expression came to Tamir's face. "Perhaps you are not trying hard enough. Do you require _motivation_?"

The trader was nodding before he quite realized just what it was that he was agreeing to, and then shook his head quickly and more emphatically than he had nodded in the first place.

_~AC1~_

Altaïr could see that Tamir's bodyguards had become distracted, and more than that they had become complacent faced with the sheer terror that Tamir's methods of control had spread through the crowd. This… now, this could be the very opportunity that he was searching for. Catching Alnesr's eye briefly, Altaïr signaled the younger Assassin to move with him, and then made his way closer to Tamir.

The merchant's two bodyguards had chosen to take advantage of the terror that their master spread in his wake – demanding goods as gifts to their wives from yet another stall owner – while Tamir himself moved on to a new victim. Watching Alnesr out of the corner of his left eye, Altaïr slipped smoothly between the merchant and his inattentive bodyguards; he watched, pleased, as his former Apprentice did the same.

"You _begged_ me for this position," Tamir snarled, his back now firmly to the two Assassins. "Swore none could do as well as you, here. I should-"

Stepping forward smoothly, Altaïr released his hidden blade, swept his right arm forward to hold the merchant in place, and drove his blade deep. Tamir made a strangled noise deep in his throat, but he did not scream. For a brief moment he writhed, fighting the inevitable before going limp at last. Alnesr crouched next to him, but Altaïr's attention was mainly focused on the stall-owner that had been one of the only people to bear witness to Tamir's last moments.

The man seemed honestly unsure of what to do; clearly, he had been terrified of what Tamir might do to him – with good reason – and yet for a few long moments he seemed to be honestly considering raising the alarm. However, in the end, the man's fear of Tamir won out over whatever loyalty he had – perhaps, at one point – felt toward the man.

The trader turned his back and left without a word or a look back.

"Be at peace," he said gently, though he doubted this one would appreciate his consideration any more than the others.

"You'll pay for this, Assassin," Tamir rasped, a line of blood beginning to run from both his mouth and nose. "You and all of your kind."

"It seems you're the one who pays now, my friend. You'll not profit from suffering any longer." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alnesr drawing the feather that he had been given by the Rafiq; Altaïr would have smiled, were the situation not so grave. The young Assassin had indeed learned his lessons well.

Tamir laughed harshly, his breaths coming more shallowly now. "You think me some petty death dealer, suckling at the breast of war? A strange target, don't you think? Why me, when so many others do the same?"

"You believe yourself different, then?" he asked; all men had reasons for what they did, he had said just the same to Alnesr, during the young Assassin's lessons.

"Oh, but I am, for I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. Just like my brothers…"

"Brothers?" Alnesr echoed, before Altaïr himself could voice that same question.

"Ah, did you think I worked alone, little Assassin? I am but a piece; a man with a part to play. You'll come to know the others soon enough, I think." For a few moments, Tamir's eyes seemed to fix on Alnesr. "You have strange eyes, child. Perhaps you, of all your kind, can see deeper…"

Tamir passed then, the light fading from behind his eyes. Alnesr's expression was pensive as he stained the Master's marker with the merchant's blood, and it remained so for a few moments more, before the two of them faded back into the crowds of the city and vanished. Tamir's resting place was far behind them when the cry went up.

Returning to the rooftops with Alnesr close behind him, he heard the sounds of alarm bells being rung throughout the city. _Things are becoming rather more complicated now, it seems,_ he mused. Looking to Alnesr, he smiled slightly as he saw the alertness with which the young Assassin was moving; truly, his former Apprentice had learned his lessons well.

They had soon reached the Bureau once more, slipping in through the rooftop entrance and landing neatly beside the fountain. Taking a moment to breathe, Altaïr looked to Alnesr as the younger Assassin straightened up once more. His earlier, pensive expression had returned, and Altaïr knew that he was turning Tamir's last words over in his mind without the younger Assassin needing to speak it aloud.

"Sometimes, people must die for the world to change," he said, reaching out to clasp Alnesr's right shoulder.

"Yes," Alnesr said, nodding. "Still, I think that Tamir was the first outside of the Brotherhood not to look at my eyes as some cursed sign. And, what he said-"

"What he said were the words of a man who knew he was dying, and one who wanted to cause discord and uncertainty among his killers, nothing more," he said.


	11. Departure and return

Yes, it was clear that the man had had his reasons for the actions that he had taken – all men did, and Altaïr would have been honestly surprised if Tamir had not – but merely having reasons did not, in the end, mean that those reasons were the _right _ones. As the two of them made their way back into the Bureau's main room, Altaïr wondered for a moment if Alnesr would tell the truth of what had transpired between them and Tamir.

Then, thinking back on how the Rafiq had acted when the two of them had left, Altaïr wondered if the younger Assassin would have the chance to speak at all.

"Word has reached me of your victory, Alnesr," the Rafiq said, his gaze seeming to pass over Altaïr entirely. "You have my gratitude, and my respect. I am certain that your Apprentice has learned a great deal from you."

"Thank you, brother," Alnesr said.

"I am sure that the other Assassins will be just as pleased to hear of your progress, as well," the Rafiq said; Altaïr could not quite tell if he was mocking Alnesr or not, but he felt rather indignant on the younger Assassin's behalf, all the same. "You should return, and bring news of your victory to Al Mualim. After you have taken some rest, of course. Taking one's first life is a tiring thing, I hear."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Rafiq," Alnesr said, nodding to the man. "It _is_ becoming rather late; I think I will sleep for the night."

"Come, then," he said, gesturing for the younger Assassin to follow him. "Let's get settled."

The two of them left the Bureau's man room, making their way back to the pile of cushions and blankets that had served as their bedding the night before. Alnesr seemed rather pensive again, and Altaïr knew without words just what it was that was troubling the younger Assassin.

"I doubt the Rafiq would have been willing to let you speak, even if you _had_ tried," he said, smiling gently as he rested his hand on Alnesr's right shoulder. "You've no need to concern yourself with my pride. Only remember: the next task will be yours."

"I know, Altaïr. And, thank you," Alnesr smiled, and Altaïr clapped the younger Assassin strongly on his right shoulder.

After that, the two of them settled down into the pile of cushions, each leaning against the other for the small extra comfort that such an action provided.

The next morning found him up just before Alnesr, as had always seemed to be the way such things were done; he rather thought that such was the way things would _always_ be between the two of them, but Altaïr was forced to admit to himself that even such a small thing as that could change in the future. When Alnesr rose, and the two of them had finished breaking fast, Altaïr let the younger Assassin proceed him out of the Bureau, and the two of them met up on the rooftops again.

Leaving Damascus was somewhat more fraught than entering it had been, owing to the alertness of the guards in the wake of Tamir's death, but the skills that they had been taught during their respective lifetimes as Assassins proved true once more. Blending with another group of wandering scholars, Altaïr suppressed a satisfied smile as he and Alnesr finally made their way out of Damascus.

Their horses were tethered in the same place, both beasts looking well enough for the day that they had spent being tended by those outside of Masyaf. Mounting up beside Alnesr once more, Altaïr finally allowed his smile to show. Alnesr would know what he meant by it.

Their return journey was nearly the same as the one that had brought them to Damascus in the first place, and yet it _felt_ different. Still, Altaïr thought that it was simply because he knew what was coming, both when he and Alnesr returned to make their report to Master Mualim, and also once they had been sent out after the second of the nine men that their Master wished them to rid the world of.

They stopped in the shade of the same oasis that they had stayed in during their journey to Damascus, feeding and watering both the horses and themselves before bedding down for the night. Rising with the sun, they continued on their way. As the ground passed by beneath them, Altaïr found himself watching Alnesr as closely as he could while attending to the needs of their journey.

He also found himself reflecting back on the journey that the two of them had made, from the day that he had first heard Alnesr's desperate cries in the poor district of Jerusalem. Seeing a child, not even old enough to walk, being dangled by his ankles over a fire pit by a man who had long and loudly denounced his murdered mother as a whore of Shaitan and the child as his spawn, had driven Altaïr to depths of fury that he did not know if he would ever feel again.

Alnesr – though the babe had not had any name that Altaïr had known at the time – had been an innocent, and seeing the teachings of Al Mualim and the Assassins mocked so openly, though it had been clear even then that those people in the square had not been of the Brotherhood, had drove Altaïr to take his first life.

Smashing every nearby pot that he could lay his hands to into the man's face had driven him back, far enough from the fire pit that he had been able to grab Alnesr and wrench the babe from the grip of the madman who had meant to kill him. He'd wrapped the babe in his own robes, hushing him briefly before his attention had been forcibly returned to the madman. Master Mualim's teachings had given him the skill to knock the man to the ground, and a large rock had provided him the means to end the man's life.

When he'd stood over the man, looking down at the bloody ruin that had once been his face, Altaïr's only thoughts had been for the babe whose life he had redeemed with his actions.

That had been how the Master and Abbas had found him: a madman dead by his hand, and a strange babe with pale yellow eyes in his arms.

He had been required to give an accounting of his actions, of course; still, when the Master had learned of what he had borne witness to, he had agreed that any true member of the Brotherhood would have acted the same under the circumstances. He had also decreed that, as the one to act in defense of the babe, he was then responsible for the life he had saved. Altaïr had, in fact, been the one to give Alnesr the name that every one of the Brotherhood knew him by.

Of course, for the first few years of Alnesr's life, Altaïr had been almost as much of a nursemaid as the women that the Master had brought in to feed Alnesr. Then, when the boy had grown enough to be able to eat more solid foods, the Master had dismissed the women that had once helped to tend to him, saying that it now fell to Altaïr himself to see that Alnesr was taken care of. When Altaïr had asked after the Master's purpose, he had said that while taking a life was simple enough considering the work that the Assassins were called upon to do, _redeeming_ one was not simple at all.

From that day, Alnesr had become just as much his student as he had been the Master's.

At one point, Abbas had been as close as a brother to him, and so naturally he had fallen into the role of an uncle to Alnesr. The three of them had taken lessons together, and eventually Alnesr's skill had grown to the point where he had been able to take lessons with them and Labib. Altaïr had been proud, to know that his teachings had been so well received by the boy that he had raised.

And now, Alnesr had taken his place among the ranks of the Brotherhood; the boy had become a man.

The two of them made their way up to the village under the shadow of Masyaf, and Altaïr saw Alnesr straightening in his saddle as he looked up at the headquarters of the Brotherhood. A hint of uncertainty lingered in the younger Assassin's expression, but Altaïr knew that such was only natural under the circumstances. There were times that even _he_ did not know just what the Master desired of him.

Leaving their horses in the care of the stable hands within the village, Altaïr fell into step beside Alnesr as the two of them made their way back up the mountain to the fortress itself.

"I heard that you had both returned," Rauf said, his eyes practically alight as he greeted the two of them. "Is it true? Has Alnesr truly gained the rank of a full Assassin?"

"It is," Alnesr said, lifting his right hand to display his hidden blade and bracer that he had been given, and also the missing ring finger that all full Assassins possessed.

Rauf smiled all the wider. "How proud you must be of him, Altaïr. Will you tell me of your mission after you report to the Master?"

"If we are given the time," he said, when it became clear that Alnesr's thoughts had returned to what he would say to the Master when they made their report.

"Yes, of course," Rauf said, looking over the both of them once more, smiling in shared pride. "I'll leave you to your duties. Safety and peace, brothers."

"On you as well, Rauf," Alnesr said, his attention clearly having returned to the present.

"Good fortune in your future missions, Alnesr," Rauf called, turning and making his way back to the training grounds where he spent much of his time.

"Thank you, brother," Alnesr called back, as he and Altaïr fell into step once more, on their way up to the Master's study.

Making their way through the fortress, he and Alnesr had soon found their way back to the Master's study. Master Mualim was waiting for them behind his desk, watching their approach with quietly assessing eyes. Retrieving the feather from his robes, Alnesr handed it to the Master when he held out his hand.


	12. Wheel of Fate

"You've done very well, Alnesr, considering your youth," the Master said, inclining his head respectfully.

"I thank you for your praise, Master, but it was not I who carried out the task."

"Oh? Then, explain your reasoning for leaving such a thing to your Apprentice, if you will," the Master prompted; Altaïr looked to Alnesr as the younger Assassin straightened his shoulders.

"While it is a simple matter to kill another in the heat of battle, in defense of one's own life or that of another, deliberately taking a life – in the way of the Brotherhood – is something that I had not yet witnessed, to say nothing of my own inexperience in such matters. I felt it best that I observed the act in person, first," Alnesr said, his expression the professional mask of an Assassin once more.

"I admire your discretion, as well as your candor in telling me this," the Master said, a small, pleased smile on his face. "Still, I sense that there is something troubling you; speak. You may no longer be an Apprentice, but that does not mean that you are required to find _all_ of your answers on your own."

"Tamir spoke as though there were others who believed as he did; as if he were a part of some greater cause, a brotherhood like our own," Alnesr said, allowing some of his confusion to show now that the Master had addressed it.

"It is entirely possible that he is _not_ the only man who believes that his actions serve a noble cause. You will find, my child, that many men in Tamir's position believe deeply in the ultimate nobility of their actions, no matter how base they may prove. Still, your task is to remove these men from the world so that their twisted ideals are not permitted to cause suffering to those that they practice them on. This world is not shaped by the ideals of such men, nor should it be," the Master said, a severe expression on his face. Then he smiled once more. "However, the both of you have performed admirably, and so I will restore a rank to you, Altaïr; you will no longer act as Alnesr's Apprentice, but merely be under his watch. Take back your short sword, and take some rest; your journey here could not have been an easy one."

"Thank you, Master," he said, bowing slightly and then turning to leave.

"Alnesr, I would speak with you a moment more," he heard the Master say, even as he turned and left the study.

_~AC1~_

For a moment, while he had been explaining the facts of the matter to Master Mualim, he had thought that there had been an odd expression on the Master's face. Still, he'd not seen it again, and was starting to doubt that it had even been there in the first place.

"I am pleased to know that your first mission for the Brotherhood was carried out so well," the Master said. "While you were away, I commissioned the blacksmiths to make you your own short sword, in preparation for your return. You may go and retrieve it now, or after you have rested for the night."

"Thank you for your consideration, and for your faith in me, Master," he said, bowing his head respectfully once more.

"I once said such to Altaïr, child: truly, to watch you having grown from a boy to a man in such a short time fills me with as much sadness as pride," Master Mualim said, reaching out to set his hand on Alnesr's right shoulder; he smiled, feeling pleased that the Master held him in such regard. "I am certain that you will do our Brotherhood credit."

"I thank you for your kind words, Master," he said.

"They are not merely words, my child," the Master said, smiling kindly as he gently lifted Alnesr's chin. "Still, you should take your rest; you seem wearied by your journey. Come to me in the morning; I would speak with you. Perhaps while we break our fast."

"Oh, of course," he said, surprised; to his knowledge, no other Assassin had been invited to break their fast with the Master. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Of course, my child. Go and rest now, you've had a long journey," the Master said kindly, clapping his right shoulder in a gentle gesture of dismissal.

"As you say, Master," he said, bowing and turning to leave for his room.

Pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs leading up to his room, Alnesr yawned and then swiftly continued on his way. As the Master said, he would retrieve his short sword in the morning; after he had broken his fast with him. Making his way up the stairs to his room once more, Alnesr divested himself of his outer robes, folded them neatly, and set them down on the shelf by his bed.

Removing his bracer, he paused for a moment to examine his right hand; the missing ring finger would mark him as one of the Brotherhood to anyone who looked. It also served to remind Alnesr of the commitment that he had made, both to the man who had raised him, and to Master Mualim himself when he had been raised to his current rank. Settling down into his bed with a last look to the bracer on his table, Alnesr closed his eyes and let himself relax into sleep at last.

When he awoke the next morning, Alnesr rose and washed as swiftly as he could, before dressing in a new set of robes that had been left for him on a higher shelf by the laundresses that served the fortress. Making his way down the stairs once more, he was met by Master Mualim himself.

"Good morning, child," the Master said, smiling down at him. "I am pleased to see that you came so promptly. Come, follow me; I take my meals alone, but I will make an exception this day."

"Thank you, Master," he said, falling into step just behind the Master as the two of them made their way down the corridors.

The place where the Master took his solitary meals was rather close to his study, which Alnesr supposed made sense, and Alnesr found that their morning meal had already been set out for them. The Master sat down first, and then gestured for Alnesr himself to sit down.

"Thank you, Master, for inviting me here," he said, bowing his head respectfully as he settled down in the chair that had been offered to him.

"Of course, my child," the Master said, smiling kindly at him. "Enjoy this meal, and then we will speak."

"Of course, Master."

_~AC1~_

Watching Alnesr as he ate, selecting a great deal of olives, some of his softer cheese, and two slices of flatbread, Al Mualim considered him for a few moments; he wondered what this conversation would reveal. Concentrating on his meal, he finished it swiftly and settled back into his seat as the boy finished the last of his own.

"What was it that you wanted to speak to me about, Master?"

"Perhaps it is best that I show you," he said, gesturing for the boy to remain seated, even as he moved to retrieve the small, wooden box that he had stored the Apple inside in preparation for the meal that he and Alnesr had taken together. "I had thought to ask you this before, but things became rather fraught; this, I thought, was the best time that we might speak of such things."

For a moment, it looked as if Alnesr was about to speak, but when Al Mualim set the box down on the table the boy fell silent. The child's gaze was locked on the box, his pale yellow eyes so deeply intent that Al Mualim knew that Alnesr was one of those who would have a place in the new world that he was working to create. After a moment, Alnesr seemed to remember himself, drawing back in his seat and sitting up straight; his eyes, however, continued to flicker towards the Apple that he had not yet truly glimpsed.

It was as if, even when the Treasure was out of his sight, it still had a hold on his mind.

"This is what I wanted to speak with you about, child," he said, making his voice gentle so that he would not startle the boy overmuch. "This, the treasure that the Templars were attempting to claim, is called a Piece of Eden." He lifted it free from the box at last, noting the way Alnesr's eyes immediately locked onto it; the way everything else in the room seemed to pass out of his awareness.

Alnesr slid out of his seat, the normally smooth motions of an Assassin of his rank lost in the face of his clear eagerness – his _need_ – to be closer to the Apple. Moving to stand before the boy, Al Mualim held out the Apple and watched as the boy reached out to touch it. Once Alnesr's hand had made contact with the surface of the Apple, Al Mualim saw solid lines of light – appearing almost solid enough to touch, though he knew that they were simply one of the Apple's illusions and nothing more – reach out to the boy and seemingly curl around him.

The strangest sight of all, however, was what happened to the boy's pale yellow eyes: as the light from the Apple reached out to him, his eyes were obscured by a white glow. The glow spread quickly, from his pupils to the edges of both of his eyes. It was only then, once Alnesr's eyes were completely overshadowed by the shifting light of the Apple, that Al Mualim began to realize that this was not the full extent of Alnesr's connection to the Apple. 

It felt as though he were reaching into the child's very mind, riding down the strings of light that the Apple appeared to project; but, more than that, it felt as if Alnesr's mind was somehow… not entirely in his own body anymore. It was an odd thing to think, but it did not seem to be any less true for all of that. Reaching deeper with the aid of the Apple, Al Mualim found that he could indeed begin to feel the lingering connection that the boy's mind had with his body.

It was not nearly so strong as he suspected it had once been; he was also beginning to realize that even _this_ was not the full extent of Alnesr's connection to the Apple.

Al Mualim was beginning to realize that, should he so wish, he could rip Alnesr Ibn La'Altaïr's mind free from its moorings and hold it within the Apple for as long as he so chose. Still, he was also becoming aware that to do so would be to leave the child's body as little more than an empty, broken doll. Such was not something he could afford at this time; not with Altaïr still awake and aware, and not so long as his former associates remained among the living.

Still, this new discovery that he had made was a rather important one; he now knew just what it was that made Alnesr so different from every other man that had encountered the Apple in the past.

Laying his right hand atop Alnesr's right, Al Mualim let his own mind reach down the links that bound Alnesr's mind to the Apple; from there, he loosened them, drawing all of the links save one back into the Apple itself. That one, he left so that he would be able to more easily bring Alnesr into the light, once the final member of the Nine Templars had been dealt with. The child's eyes had cleared some, as he had pulled the links from his mind, and now they simply appeared to reflect the lines of light that had once been projected from the Apple itself.

A moment's concentration on the remaining link allowed him to suppress it deep enough that Alnesr's eyes cleared, and the boy blinked in surprise.


	13. Masters and students

"Master?"

"It is nothing against you, child," he said, withdrawing the Apple and moving to set it back within the box. "All men who set their eyes on this Treasure find themselves drawn to it." Still, it was clear that Alnesr had been drawn far deeper than any other man that Al Mualim had yet met.

"It is not that," the boy said, looking around the room in confusion. "I was seated at the table, when you showed me the Treasure."

Alnesr said nothing more, but the confusion on his face spoke volumes. _So, he truly remembers nothing of what transpired between us._ It seemed an odd thing, but the more he thought on it, the more he realized that it was not so odd at all. The Apple had held the child's mind fast, binding it ever deeper within itself when Alnesr had been within its light; it was only to be expected that the child would not remember such a thing.

"Pay it no mind, my child," Al Mualim said, making his voice soft and kind. "The Treasure exerts a pull over all men. You are no different." It was one more falsehood in a long line of them, yes, but what he said next was no falsehood at all. "You'd best go fetch your short sword; you and Altaïr have a great deal of work yet to do."

"Yes," Alnesr said absently, his gaze taking in the room a last time – settling for a few, long moments on the box holding the Apple – before turning his full attention to Al Mualim. "Yes, Master."

Bowing respectfully once more, Alnesr turned and left the room swiftly.

_~AC1~_

Even though the Master had taken time to reassure him, Alnesr was still troubled by the fact that he could not remember standing up from his seat when Master Mualim had shown him the Templar treasure; or the Piece of Eden, as he had been told that it was called. He had been taught to pay attention to his surroundings at all times; to know that he had lapsed in that so completely was troubling. Even though he had been more perfectly safe within the Master's quarters than in almost any other place in the fortress that he might have found himself, the thought that he might have been forgetting the lessons that Altaïr had taught him was a troubling one.

Still, there were few enough things that he could do about that, aside from making a personal vow that he would pay more attention from this day on.

Making his way back down the stairs, Alnesr hurried his steps as he made his way deeper into the fortress' lower levels. It was as Master Mualim had said: he and Altaïr did indeed have a great deal of work left to do. Leaving the fortress behind, Alnesr made his way down to the forges; speaking briefly to some of the smiths there, he quickly found himself holding the short sword that the Master had ordered to be forged for his use.

Thanking the smiths, Alnesr turned and made his way back to the fortress. From there, he would be able to meet up with Altaïr and the two of them could get underway. It was not so long as he thought it would be, before Alnesr found himself catching up to the man who had been his Master not so long ago; the man who he would always think of as his mentor.

"I see you've taken up _your_ short blade, as well," Altaïr said, smiling softly as the two of them fell into step with one another.

"Yes," he said, nodding slightly as he looked down upon the weapon that had been made for him at the Master's order.

"Well, seeing that I am no longer your Apprentice, perhaps you would like my help in honing your skills with that blade; I'll not discount the value of Labib's lessons, but a great deal of time has passed since then."

"Yes," he said, smiling slightly at the thought of being able to train under the watchful eyes of his mentor once more; acting as Altaïr's Master, even for so short a time, had been an odd enough experience that Alnesr wished never to repeat it. In time, he would take his own Apprentice, but to be forced into the role for one who had been his Master was entirely too unnerving. "I think I would like that."

"I think Rauf would be particularly pleased if we were to assist him in training his students," Altaïr said, smiling softly.

Alnesr chuckled. "Yes, I think he would."

The two of them turned their steps toward the training ground, where Rauf and his students awaited them, and Alnesr began to loosen the muscles of his shoulders the way that Altaïr had taught him to do while the two of them had been working as Master and Apprentice. Once the two of them had made it there, Rauf greeted them cordially, and the two of them spent a great deal of time sparring with the wooden training swords that Rauf had provided for them. Rauf's students seemed purely enthralled to watch as he and Altaïr sparred each other; he did not know if that was because they had never seen Assassins of his and Altaïr's rank sparring before, or if they were simply excited for the extra attention.

Alnesr could not ever remember being that way as a child, but his childhood had been rather different than any of the other children in Masyaf.

Once Altaïr had been satisfied that his memory of Labib's teachings had not faded so much with time, the two of them left the sparring ring. Rauf asked them if they had the time to speak to him about their mission and how it had gone, as well as the matter of his own promotion to full Assassin. Altaïr said that he would see what the Master desired of them, and Alnesr agreed.

Their time was not truly their own when the Master had need of them; such held true for all Assassins.

They made their way back into the main building of the fortress, he slightly behind Altaïr in a gesture of deference that he did not know if he would ever feel comfortable abandoning, and back up to Master Mualim's study. The Master himself was, naturally, standing behind his desk when they arrived.

"It is good to see that the two of you came so promptly," Master Mualim said, gently stern gaze taking in both him and Altaïr. "The next of your targets is a man named Garnier de Naplouse. You will find him in Acre."

"Of course, Master," Altaïr said, while he simply bowed silently; he was still slightly troubled by the way his own mind had seemed to betray him in the presence of the Treasure.

"Alnesr, I expect that you will continue your efforts to see that Altaïr continues improving in his adherence to our ways," the Master said.

"Of course, Master," he acknowledged; it was a strange thing to think, that he would still be called on to account for Altaïr's actions even though the two of them had now attained the same rank.

Still, it was what the Master had requested of him, and so Alnesr would endeavor to do as Master Mualim wished.

Leaving the Master's study for the last time this day, he followed Altaïr down to the stables where they chose a new pair of horses and set off on their journey to Acre.

He could never quite remember just how many days the journey to Acre took; the days of travel seemed to blur into one another – the unchanging routine of waking, riding, and then sleeping once more serving to lull him into a half-apathetic sort of daze – but soon enough they had arrived at the city. A large crowd milled outside the city, more of them seeming to be leaving than entering. It fit with what Altaïr had told him of his last mission to Acre, just before he had been officially instated as the older Assassin's Apprentice: the Master had assigned him to stop the Templars from poisoning the city's water supply.

Naturally, Altaïr had done so, but the Crusaders had still managed to take the city; and even now, Acre and its people bore the scars of war.


	14. Into Acre

They made their way into the city as silently as ever, this time going _over_ the heads of the guards at the gate, rather than passing under their eyes amidst a group of scholars. Truly, Alnesr did not know if there even _were_ scholars about in Acre; it was not a place that he was particularly familiar with. Altaïr nodded to him, and the two of them made their way across the rooftops and deeper into the city; Altaïr seemed to know just where it was, and so Alnesr elected to trust him.

He soon saw the familiar shape of an Assassin Bureau, and smiled softly; it seemed, as ever, that his trust had been rewarded. Finding himself thinking of the one time it had not, Alnesr cast aside those thoughts almost reflexively. Now was not the time for such idle musings.

When the two of them had at last reached the roof of the Bureau, he was the one who climbed in before Altaïr. Stepping down into the room, Alnesr moved back enough to allow Altaïr more space to lower himself down as well. Altaïr's gentle smile, as he clapped Alnesr on his right shoulder, made him feel warm and contented inside, and prompted a smile of his own in return.

As the two of them made their way into the Bureau's main room, he saw that this Bureau's Rafiq had a genuinely kind look in his eyes. It was a welcome change from the false friendliness that the Rafiq in Damascus had offered.

"Ah, Altaïr, Alnesr; a little bird told me that you would be paying a visit," the Rafiq said, seeming amused at his wordplay. When he opened his hands, setting the pigeon that he had been cooing at free, the bird alighted on the countertop between them, puffing out its chest and marching to and fro. "So, who is the unfortunate that Al Mualim has chosen to be your first mark, Alnesr?"

"The Master has ordered the execution of Garnier de Naplouse," he said, wondering for a moment just who the man was and what he had done.

"The Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier?"

"If that is his position in the city; the Master gave me only a name to seek him out," he said.

"Do you intend to take care of the investigations within the city?" the Rafiq asked.

"I will take care of that," Altaïr said, before he could say anything. Altaïr then turned toward him, a restrained sort of pride on his face. "Stay here and hone your skills, Alnesr. I will deliver the information you lack."

"Thank you, Altaïr," he said, feeling humbled at the generosity he had been offered; it was not long ago that _he_ would have been charged with seeking out that selfsame information on Altaïr's behalf.

Truly, these circumstances were the strangest that he had ever dealt with.

With a last nod to him and the Rafiq, Altaïr left the Bureau through the same roof-access that the two of them had used on their way in. Alnesr, left alone with the Rafiq, wondered for a moment just what it was that Altaïr did with _his_ time while he was alone at the Bureau.

"Oh, I meant to tell you this before," the Rafiq said, bringing out a small box and setting it down on the counter between them. "The Master had these sent to me, once it was determined that you and Altaïr would be traveling here."

The Rafiq opened the box, revealing the set of five sharp, gleaming throwing knives that had been placed inside it.

"I would thank the Master for his generosity, were he here," he said, bowing slightly in thanks to the Rafiq as he removed the knives from the case that they had been delivered in and sheathed them in the previously empty holsters that had been added to his belt.

"I will be sure to send him your regards," the Rafiq said, smiling kindly. "For now, I think that you should hone your skills with those knives. Would you like me to show you where you may, or do you know the way?"

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "While it _is_ true that I have accompanied Altaïr to many Bureaus just like this one, I confess that I have no knowledge of such a place."

"Come, then; I will show you the way. Come, come."

Falling into step with the Rafiq as he came out from behind the counter, Alnesr found himself being lead to a room opposite the one that he and Altaïr had entered from. A room that seemed to run the full length of the Bureau itself.

"We might not have the full facilities of Masyaf, but you will at least have the opportunity to gain _some_ skill with those new weapons of yours."

"Thank you, Rafiq," he said, as the man nodded to him and left the room.

There were four targets on the far wall, as well as four lines painted on the floor; clearly, one was meant to start at the line closest to the targets, and then move closer over the course of their training. Moving to stand just behind the closest of the four lines, Alnesr stood at the center of the four targets and drew his knives. Time he began his own work.


	15. The mad doctor

As he had gathered the information that Alnesr would need when he dealt with the man that Master Mualim had chosen as the first to die by Alnesr's hands – the man who would be the one of the sole witnesses to the boy's loss of his last bit of innocence – Altaïr found himself seething more and more with a slow-burning rage. It seemed that the man, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier and hence one that should have been _helping_ the people of this wounded city, was doing nothing of the sort. He had heard reports of people being turned away from the Hospitalier fortress, and of others who disappeared into it.

He had also heard reports of a scandal that had driven the man from Tyre, and fears that such a thing would be repeated in Acre. He had also read a scroll, taken from an associate of Naplouse, clearly stating that the man _had_ no intentions at all of curing his alleged patients. Supplied with unfortunates captured from Jerusalem, he had been conducting tests aimed at inducing certain states in his patients; all in the name of some unknown master. Tamir – his target from Damascus – had been working to procure weapons for the operation that Garnier seemed to also be a part of.

One particular phrase in the letter had drawn his attention above even that, however: _we should endeavor to reclaim what has been stolen from us._ He was still puzzled as to what it could possibly mean, but as he still had other information to gather, Altaïr had continued his investigation. To hear the people speak, Garnier allowed "madmen" to wander the hospital almost at whim; though Altaïr did not know if those men were truly mad, or if they were a product of the experiments that Garnier was said to conduct.

He had also learned that, when the archers covering the walkways above the hospital were dismissed from their posts, Garnier himself would take time to make the rounds of his hospital without a bodyguard. Only monks were allowed passage at those times, but such was the reason that the Assassins had chosen the garb that they wore; Alnesr would be given the perfect opportunity to strike.

With all of the information that he had gathered on behalf of the younger Assassin, Altaïr knew that it was best that he returned to the Bureau to present it.

Alnesr and Jabal would be waiting for him, and he could at least admit to himself that he was becoming weary of this day's activities and wished to rest from them. Crossing the rooftops on his way back to the Bureau, Altaïr was careful to avoid the notice of the archers placed upon them. He'd no desire for a cry to go up, after all that he had done to conceal his presence from those who called Acre their home.

Coming within sight of the rooftop entrance, Altaïr allowed himself a small, contented smile as he climbed back down into the building.

"Altaïr, it's good to see you again," Alnesr said, rising from the table where he had clearly been taking his meal.

"How has your training been progressing?" he asked, settling down at the table so that he could partake of some of the food that Alnesr had laid out for the both of them.

"As well as can be expected without a sparring partner," Alnesr said, seeming to contemplate the fig in his hands for a few moments before beginning to eat once more. Swallowing a last time, Alnesr turned a shyly pleased smile back to him. "The Master sent me my first set of throwing knives earlier."

Altaïr smiled, feeling another swell of pride in the younger Assassin. "It is good to see how well you have progressed in your training."

"Thank you, Altaïr. It means a great deal to me, hearing you say that."

They fell silent after that, finishing their meal and taking a few moments to let their food settle, before he proceeded Alnesr back into the main room of the Bureau and stood before Jabal.

"Welcome back, Altaïr," the Rafiq said, nodding and smiling. "Have you gathered the information you sought?"

"Indeed; I have determined both when and how the task would best be carried out," he said.

"Share your knowledge with us, then."

"Garnier lives and works within his Order's hospital," he said, feeling again the swell of anger at the man for the abuse of power that he had heard tell of from all quarters of the city. "Rumors speak of atrocities committed within its walls."

"What is the plan that you have formed, then?" Jabal asked, folding his arms and shifting slightly behind the counter.

"Garnier keeps mainly to his quarters inside the hospital, though he leaves occasionally to inspect the patients. When he makes his rounds, he does so without a bodyguard. That would be the ideal time to strike."

"You've clearly given thought to this, Altaïr," Jabal said, smiling. "Well, what do _you_ say to this, Alnesr? You've been rather silent on the matter."

"Thank you, Altaïr, for your diligence and consideration," Alnesr said, smiling up at him.

"Well then, I will give you leave to go, Alnesr," Jabal said, smiling as he handed over yet another feather. "Though, I _would_ advise that you take some rest first; it has been a rather long day."

"Yes, I think I will do that," Alnesr said, turning and making for the pile of blankets and cushions on the far side of the entrance room.

Altaïr followed just behind him, and soon enough the two of them had settled down to sleep once more.

The next day, as the two of them ate a light breakfast, Altaïr noticed a sort of tenseness that lingered around Alnesr; he knew why that was, as it had been just the same way with him when _he_ had been called upon to take _his_ first life.

"Be at peace, Alnesr," he said, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the younger Assassin's right shoulder. "I am certain that your actions today will bring credit to both the Brotherhood, and to yourself."

"Thank you, Altaïr," Alnesr said, smiling softly as he finished the last of his meal. "It means a great deal to me, hearing you say that."

He squeezed the younger Assassin's shoulder a last time, before the two of them rose from their seats and made their way up and out of the Bureau so that they could be about their final business in this city. So that Garnier de Naplouse could be dealt with at last.

Crossing the rooftops as their journey continued, Altaïr took a moment to observe Alnesr in motion; the younger Assassin's technique was clearly improving, though not many who watched him would see the added refinement to his movements that Altaïr was able to notice. Not many observed the younger Assassin so closely as he did; not many had taught him nearly since birth. Turning his thoughts back to their current mission after his moment of admitted self-indulgence, Altaïr signaled for Alnesr to follow him.

Turning their path toward the Hospitalier fortress, Altaïr began searching for the building he had found to be a good place to insert themselves into a group of scholars before they ventured inside the fortress. Finding it, he signaled to Alnesr and the two of them ducked out of sight of the archer patrolling the walkways above the fortress. Turning to take in the position of the sun, Altaïr knew that they had come at just the time.

Smiling to himself as the man moved to a ladder and let himself down, Altaïr signaled Alnesr forward and the two of them moved low and fast across the walkway, until they came to a point where they could see without being seen in turn. Peering down into the courtyard, Altaïr found to his surprise that it was rather a plain affair: sheer-walled in forbidding, dull gray stone, with only a well at its center.

Certainly a far cry from the ornately decorated buildings that were usually found in Acre.

There were also several guards, wearing the black, quilted surcoats of the Knights Hospitalier, as well as a group of monks. Moving randomly among the serene-looking monks and the severe-looking Knights, were small groups of shirtless, barefoot men. Poor wretches, who wandered dazedly about, their expressions blank and their eyes glazed.

Frowning slightly, Altaïr studied the courtyard further; there seemed to be no way to drop inside without being seen. Beckoning Alnesr forward, Altaïr moved to the entrance wall of the hospital so that he and Alnesr would be able to see into the street. On sun-washed stone, the ill and injured gathered, begging the guards to be allowed inside. Others, whose minds seemed to be gone, wandered among the throng shouting gibberish and obscenities.

Altaïr gritted his teeth; the city would be much improved after Garnier was dead, clearly.

He was pleased, however, to see the group of scholars moving through the crowd as if it was not even there; they seemed somehow removed from the tumult around them. It also looked as though they were making for the hospital, as well.

"Come."

"Yes, Altaïr," Alnesr said, nodding sharply.

The two of them made their way back to the ground, moving in the inattentive moments of the crowd and joining the group of scholars. Matching their pace and adapting their movements, he and Alnesr were able to vanish into the crowd. Risking a surreptitious glance at their surroundings at odd moments, Altaïr found that they were indeed making their way into the hospital; the guards that would have stopped an Assassin at the door stepped neatly aside for the scholars.

Altaïr wrinkled his nose at the scents inside the hospital; where the city outside had held the scents of baking, perfumes, and spices, this place reeked of human misery. From somewhere else, muffled by a pair of closed doors, there came a series of pained cries and a low, lingering moan; that would be the main hospital, Altaïr mused.

The doors were suddenly flung open, and a patient came running out, a look of mad terror on his face. "No! Help, help me! Help me, please! You _must_ help me!"

A guard came charging out after him; the man had a lazy eye, as though the muscles in his eyelid had been damaged some time in the past. He was swiftly followed by another guard, this one healthy; together, the two of them beat on the man until he had collapsed to his knees on the stone. Altaïr, watching this from within the group of scholars, felt his jaw clench.

Being forced to merely stand and _watch_ as this injustice was perpetuated was infuriating.

"Mercy," the man howled, even as blows continued to rain down upon him. "I beg of you, no more…"

The man's pleas trailed off, as the doors to the hospital swung open once more, and a man who could only be Garnier de Naplouse walked in. He was shorter than the image that Altaïr had formed of him from the Master's description; beardless, with close-cropped white hair, sunken eyes, and an unsmiling, downturned mouth that gave him the look of a corpse. He wore the white crosses of the Hospitalier on his arms, and a crucifix around his neck, but he did not seem to be a particularly pious sort.

For he also wore an apron that had been soaked with the blood of many men.

Naplouse turned his eyes onto the struggling man, held as he was by Lazy Eye and the other guard; Lazy eye raising a fist with clear anticipation.

"Enough, my child," Naplouse rebuked, a disapproving expression on his face. "I asked you to retrieve the patient, not kill him." Naplouse smiled, though even then there was something in his eyes that Altaïr did not like. "There, there. Everything will be all right. Give me your hand."

"No… no…" the crazy man moaned, sounding for a moment more like a dying animal than a man. "Don't touch me… not again…"

Naplouse seemed to appear hurt by the man's reaction, or he would have if Altaïr had not been able to see his eyes; those remained as hard and remote as ever. "Cast out this fear, else I cannot help you."

"Help me? Like you helped the others? You took their _souls_! I saw. I _saw_. But not mine. No; you'll not get mine. Never! Never… never. Not mine…" the man continued, repeating those two words with a regularity and lack of inflection that Altaïr found unnerving even in spite of all his training.

The last of the false friendship vanished from Naplouse's face as though it had never been. "Take hold of yourself," the man said sharply, after delivering what looked like a harsh slap to the man he was tormenting. "Do you think this gives me pleasure? Do you think I _want_ to hurt you? But you leave me no choice…"

With a surge of strength that had carried many men through times of desperation, the man pulled free from the guards and tried to lose himself in the gathered crowd. Altaïr doubted that anything would come of the attempt, and so he tried not to feel anything for the man. "Every kind word, matched by the back of his hand!" the man screeched, and Altaïr ducked his head as the man passed close to him. "Nothing but lies and deception! He'll not be content until all bow before him!"

Lazy Eye caught up to the man, dragging him back toward Naplouse; the expression on the Grand Master's face once again matched the hardness that had always been in his eyes. "You should not have done that." Naplouse turned his attention to Lazy Eye once more. "Return him to his quarters. I'll be along once I've tended to the others."

"You can't keep me here!" the sickly man declared, sounding almost proud for a moment. "I'll escape again!"

"No, you won't," Naplouse said calmly, turning back to Lazy Eye. "Break his legs; both of them."

Lazy Eye grinned, even as Altaïr felt a hand on his wrist. Looking over to see who it was, he found Alnesr standing at his right side once more. The two of them had separated slightly when they had joined the group of scholars; having had to take care not to appear as outsiders _there_, of all places; but here and now it was safe for them to be seen together, as long as they did not act to reveal themselves.

Alnesr bared his teeth, pale yellow eyes narrowing at the sound of bones shattering, one at a time; a sound like cloth-wrapped sticks being snapped. Moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the younger Assassin, Altaïr watched as those pale yellow eyes came to focus on him again. Nodding, in lieu of voicing the thoughts that he could not under the circumstances, he saw Alnesr's expression clear once more.


End file.
